Taking the Silver
by Nurdles
Summary: "Did you grow up with horses, my lady?" Dany asked. "I did. My lord father gave me my first horse, Skybiscuit, before I could walk. His offspring are quite sought after on Tarth." "Your father gave a baby a stallion?" "Yes, your Grace, though he made sure a servant rode along with me all the time until I was at least five."
1. Chapter 1

Daenerys sat upon the iron throne, her royal bottom cushioned by a velvet pillow stuffed with the softest of downy feathers plucked from northern Ice Geese. Sometimes called Stark Swans for their roosting territory in the heart of the cold north, some had joked that with the diminished power of the Starks in the world they should replace their Direwolf sigil with a Stark Swan. A few even suggested that In concert with a sigil change their motto "Winter is Coming" ought to be changed to "Breakfast is Coming" (due to the legendary size of Ice Goose eggs), or the more cruel but succinct "We Laid an Egg."

Whatever the case, with most of the Starks gone and only Sansa left to re-build Winterfell, the fowl that lived in the North were a lesser concern than the wights and white walkers that it was now exporting. The terrors of winter had come and they were headed south, slowed only by valiant soldiers holding them back with fire, dragon glass and cold steel.

Daenerys knew that her newly won throne would not be worth ruling from if the tide was not halted or repelled soon. She also knew many expected her to employ her dragons in defense of the realm. This was something to be considered with care, for as much as she enjoyed being the mother of the people, being mother to her dragons was somewhat closer to her heart. Until she was sure that the rumored ice dragons could be safely vanquished by fire she was unwilling to risk the only three dragons known to exist. Winter would _eventually_ end, wouldn't it?

For now she must get her Kingdom in order, and that meant dealing with past wrongs to her family and more present threats to her rule. Which was why at this moment the great hall was filled with the most influential, favored, and/or least trusted people of Westeros, all awaiting an event nearly as salacious as the trial of Eddard Stark and his subsequent beheading. Jaime Lannister now stood before the iron throne, chained but not broken, head bowed, yet not subservient in his bearing or expression.

Looking over the crowd Daenerys saw the Kingslayer's whore, Brienne of Tarth, tension in every line of her, her hands opening and closing as though if she flexed them often enough the swords she had been made to surrender outside might magically appear. She really did present quite the figure there amongst the silk and embroidery covered crowd. Aside from her height and bearing, her plain leather garb, faded from what might once have been a bright blue to a worn grey, set her apart. As did her face; the lines of her mouth were drawn down in a fierce grimace, her chin was raised defiantly, and her blue eyes were riveted on the Kingslayer. It was said that she was called Brienne the Beauty, an obvious jape due to her unattractive features. Daenerys did not see the humor in the name. Brienne's eyes were exceptionally beautiful in color and shape, and while her features were not those of a traditional beauty, or a non-traditional one at that, Dany thought they were distinctive and intriguing. Having traveled through many lands on her way to the throne, Daenerys had seen people of many different appearances, which included people with generously plump lips, women of great height, tribes with freckles and other pigment not often seen in Westeros, along with men and women very heavily muscled, either because of their ancestry or the chores of their daily lives. Scars, too, were common everywhere, though the one on Brienne's cheek seemed fairly unusual in shape. To Daenerys, Brienne was not deserving of her epithet; she merely wondered if Brienne's forbears got around quite a lot.

As a Targaryen this was an interesting question, since the Targaryen line was kept quite pure through not breeding outside the family. Aside from that little incident with Rhaegar, it was unheard of to cleave to someone not silver of hair and lavender of eye. This was also why the question of the Kingslayer's fathering with his sister of the last two kings to sit the throne was of little concern to her. To be honest, the thought that Robert Baratheon, pretender to the throne, had been cuckolded by his wife was a delicious little bit of retribution.

Jaime Lannister was here to answer for killing her father, King Aegon Targaryen. Dany had never known her father, but even as far away as Pentos, where she and her over-reaching brother had lived while awaiting the opportunity to regain the throne, people spoke of "Mad King Aerys". Whispered it, really, when she or her brother were about. As king, didn't he have the right to be mad? Certainly her departed brother was often mad at the smallest things. She recalled that he once became enraged over soggy noodles and threatened to tweak the nipples of a serving woman for it. He was awfully fond of tweaking when he was in a poor humor. Good thing she was never betrothed to him, she thought with a little shiver. Now this Lannister fellow, she could see a sister wedding and bedding him with no hesitation at all. But the Kingslayer was not a king, and one only became a queen by marrying one or de-throning one. In this instance, she almost felt sorry for the sullen and slutty Cersei Baratheon, former queen and up next in her procession of prisoners.

Schooling her features to appear stern and hopefully less inexperienced at sitting a throne, Daenerys nodded to Missandei, her speaker, to begin the trial.

"Jaime Lannister, known as Kingslayer, member of the King's guard, you will answer before this throne for the death of King Aerys Targaryen, second of his name. Do you deny that it was by your hand that the rightful king died?"

There were titters throughout the room as people were reminded that Jaime no longer had the hand in question. Even Jaime might have smirked, though it could just be a nervous twitch under his overgrown beard. Brienne did not react, except to draw in a long breath and flick her eyes up to Missandei.

Jaime raised his head, looked Queen Daenerys in the eye and said in a carrying voice, "That is true." No one had expected him to deny it. Many present wondered why the new queen hadn't simply taken his head to decorate one of the spikes around the Red Keep.

The queen nodded again to Missandei who said "King Aerys Targaryen's daughter, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, second of her name and Queen of the Andals and the First Men, seeks to know why you committed this treason."

Jaime Lannister did grin then, and asked "If I answer well will she release me? I've had enough of being in chains for a lifetime." He rattled the chains that hung from his left wrist and were also tightly clamped above his right elbow. "I'm not asking for a Stark Swan pillow or anything, but I do promise never to do it again."

The great hall erupted in a confused mixture of outrage with scattered guffaws quickly converted into coughing fits. Daenerys spoke quickly and coldly "Kingslayer you are called, and you have laid claim to that name before this hall. Your punishment is in my hands. You will tell me of my father's death."

At this Jaime turned slowly, looking in the crowd for Brienne. When he found her he raised his eyebrows at her in question and she mouthed "Tell her!" her eyes widening in exasperation and fear. So Jaime began: he told of King Aerys' madness for fire, his lust for torture, his plan to cook King's Landing with caches of wild fire. "I am sorry to say, your Grace, that slaying your father may have been my finest act. I took no pleasure in it and I have taken no pride in it. This is only the second time I have ever spoken the truth of King Aerys. The first time was to the Maid of Tarth after I lost the hand that slew your father."

"Why did you speak of it to her? Why not before then, or even afterwards, when you might have found favor for your 'deed'?"

"I trusted Brienne then as I do now, and I've been spilling my guts to her ever since. Also," he paused and lowered his voice "I felt my own death might be at hand." More titters. _What is so_funny_about amputation_, thought Daenerys.

"So, 'Mad' King Aerys? You are telling me he was crazy, that his mind was broken?"

"He was not just grumpy, your Grace."

Daenerys suppressed a smile of her own. Her brother had been both grumpy and crazy. The ember does not land far from the fire, she thought.

With a graceful wave of her hand she said airily, "All Targaryens are somewhat mad for fire." and allowed that to sink in with her new subjects. "Fortunately, I do not have to resort to wild fire, nor secrecy. I have dragons."

In the great hall there seemed to be a collective holding of breath. This new queen, this pretty, petite, dangerous queen, had them all straining forward to hear what she intended with such an inflammatory statement. Daenerys was not inclined to relieve their curiosity. Let them wonder, let them fear. Too bad her dragons had grown too big to be in the hall with her, it would have been very satisfying to have some of her larger unsullied fling a sheep into the air so they could watch Drogon catch it in his mouth and swallow it whole. She had been trying to train him to roast it with fire as it flew through the air for a more terrifying display, but alas the only time he had got it right the still flaming sheep had seared his throat and given him an awful case of flame reflux. Drogon was never docile even with his mother, and after that he had been surly for days.

The queen let them stew for a moment as she studied Ser Jaime. Even with his missing hand he was quite an attractive man. Not in comparison to her sun and stars Drogo, but certainly far more appealing than her other husband Hizdahr, who was out kissed by a fish. As Jaime stood before her awaiting her judgment she had the leisure to study him: his winter darkened golden hair, his untrimmed beard, his compelling green eyes, which studied her just as avidly, if not for the same reasons. She knew she should allow Ser Barristan, who stood with utmost dignity and patience behind her throne, to execute his fellow member of the old King's Guard. She also knew that Ser Jorah in his secret jealousy of any man he suspected of catching her eye would be delighted to take on that duty as well. Poor Ser Jorah, perhaps she could find him a high maintenance wife to keep him busy and take his mind off of his obsession with her. For a strong and capable man he could just be so _needy_ in his infatuation.

No one in the crowd could have suspected how Dany's mind had wandered for just a moment, but she was still a young woman for all of her accomplishments and power. Back to the matter at hand, she glanced up at Brienne, who was stolidly staring at her now instead of at her rumored and possibly doomed lover. Such an interesting pair, and the stories and even songs made about them had reached her ears even as she made her way to the seven kingdoms. Daenerys wondered if any of them were true. That story about the bear had bard blather written all over it. Would a crippled man on his way to freedom really go back to rescue a woman he hardly knew from a big bear in a pit? And without a weapon other than his own diminished value to the hand of the king? But he had said he trusted the tall woman, and perhaps there was more to the tale. Was it a romance for the ages or was the affection one-sided as it was with her and Jorah Mormont? An intriguing question and one that caught at whatever romance hadn't been burned from her heart along with Drogo.

Dany glanced to the far side of the dais where the Kingslayer's brother stood suppressing any emotion he felt at his brother's trial. She had grown very fond of Tyrion and felt for him as he stood apart from his family and their crimes.

Daenerys gestured to Missandei, who addressed the hall, "The Queen has made her decision regarding Ser Jaime Lannister, known as Goldenhand and Kingslayer."

After discreetly making sure none of her garments were snagged on the prickly parts of the iron throne, Queen Daenerys stood, Sers Jorah and Barristan moving forward to flank her.

"Jaime Lannister, you are sentenced to take the Silver. You will be sent to fight the threat coming from the north. You will face almost certain death in defending my realm. In this way you will pay for your crimes and either perish or win your redemption."

Smoothly Missandei intoned "Taking the Silver, named for the silver hair of the true Targaryen rulers, is distinguished by a commitment to combat whatever forces seek to harm the seven kingdoms and rule of the Targaryen dynasty. The appointment is for life, and the punishment for abandonment of the duties required is death. Those who have taken the silver may be known by their sigil, a silver dragon rampant on a purple field. We do not ask that you be willing to give your life if needed in service, we demand it. "Missandei paused at this point, knowing that even though everyone present had heard the terms of Taking the Silver before, this point provided drama and emphasis. She continued, "Unlike the so-called crows of the wall, we do not require your celibacy. We would not have our warriors neutered in spirit as our unsullied were in body. Those who hold lands and titles will give over those possessions to the crown, to be held in trust for times of peace. In this way those who may consider themselves too grand to serve with lesser men and women may be motivated to strive to regain those lands in time through exemplary service and sacrifice."

Into the brief silence Brienne could be heard to gasp in relief at this reprieve. Jaime himself seemed to be struggling not to roll his eyes. "You may speak," Missandei told him.

"This I will willingly do, for I was in the north already fighting the wights and white walkers when I was seized and brought to trial."

"_Jaime!_" Brienne hissed behind him. Clearly _she_ had more sense than to bait the queen who had just sentenced the Kingslayer, and leniently at that. Jaime did not look chagrinned in the least, he bit his lip to hold back a little smile, whether pleased at Brienne's concern or feeling too clever for his own good Daenerys did not know. She narrowed her eyes at him and did not give him the satisfaction of a reply. She settled gracefully back onto the throne.

"Remove his chains but return him to his cell." She said, with a little thrust of her chin at the Unsullied ranged around him. His arms were grasped by the soldiers and they turned him around to make his way through the crowd. Their path took them past Brienne, who looked down at him as he deliberately brushed up against her in passing.

"Idiot." She said, but a small smile curved her mouth and a dimple appeared in her un-marred cheek. She looked as though she might trail after the Unsullied leading Jaime out when Missandei again began to speak.

"Bring forth Cersei Lannister Baratheon!"

Brienne stilled and turned back to the face the throne, a curious glint in her eye.

Cersei was brought out in chains as well. For all that she had been disgraced and shorn not so long ago, Cersei entered with her dignity intact, her hair short but perfectly framing her small face, and her expression secure in knowing every eye would be drinking in her renowned beauty. _How_, thought Daenerys, _could a woman seem to make chains a fashion choice_? Cersei did not smile, for hers was not a face for pleasing expressions when confronted by another woman, or by most men for that matter. _I could learn from this woman_, thought Dany, before she thrust the thought away. Still, Cersei had the queenly experience that Daenerys lacked and in a way she admired her spirit.

Glancing up at Brienne, Dany caught her brief flash of annoyance at seeing Cersei seemingly unaffected by her imprisonment.

Cersei, seeing that she had the attention of the court, dropped a perfect curtsy to the new queen, a curtsy so calculated as to not give offense yet not give satisfaction either. _I wonder if she practiced that in her cell_ Dany thought with a little smile, _let's see how she likes what I have planned_.

"Cersei Lannister Baratheon you are brought before her Grace, Queen Daenerys Stormborn, Queen of the seven Kingdoms, as a former queen and queen regent, to formally relinquish the titles and privledges that were yours during and after the false reign of Robert Baratheon, Joffrey Baratheon and Tommen Baratheon."

Cersei's expression did not change, but somehow the room, already too cool even with all of the huge braziers lit, seemed to drop in temperature by several degrees.

Missandei continued "You are not formally accused of any crime, as the crown does not recognize treasons to a pretender to the throne. In her mercy Queen Daenerys will spare your life, but you will never again pretend to a higher station than you should have had. Nor will you be able to claim the station you relinquished, that of Lady Lannister, daughter to Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock." Cersei's eyelids may have lowered a bit at that, but as she appeared bored by the proceedings she could merely be feigning an urge to sleep.

"You will henceforth be known only as Cersei Waters and your station will be servant to the assistant of the royal cook." At this a horrified gasp was heard in the audience, presumably from the head cook, though it might have come from Varys, who loved his food and knew of the lady's penchant for poison.

Missandei glanced at Daenerys for any further word and was waved on to continue. "You have permission to speak before your Queen."

Cersei's expressive eyebrows drew down in fury over her sparking eyes as she said in a low, haughty voice "A servant? To an assistant? Of a _cook_? I'd sooner take the silver."

Daenerys laughed delightedly, "Done!" she said, turning to smile at her knights, "Ser Barristan, see that Cersei is outfitted in armor and given some instruction in using a sword. She will be leaving with the next unit of Silvers in a fortnight."

Barristan's face lit with glee as he spoke from his place behind Daenerys, "Though she may be a little _old_ to learn, it would be my pleasure to see to her readiness for the campaign."


	2. Chapter 2

Jaime had been moved from the second level of the dungeons to a more comfortable cell in the towers of Traitor's Walk. He had been allowed some liberty in moving about King's Landing, but was kept within sight by a pair of large Dothraki guards. As Brienne made her way up the steps of the tower to see Jaime she cringed to see the Arakhs they wore, thinking that if Daenerys wanted to remind Jaime of his vulnerability then being guarded with curved swords like the one that had severed his hand would be very effective.

Brienne felt a lightness as she ascended the steps that she hadn't felt since Jaime had been captured and brought back to King's Landing for his trial. So many times she had faced losing him and her relief whenever he emerged alive from that which seemed certain to kill him always left her temporarily dizzy and feeling like together they were invincible. Even the thought that Cersei would be joining them as they made their way back north couldn't dampen her sprits.

Jaime's cell door was ajar, and she could see him within, shirtless as he stared out the tall, narrow window. Surely he had heard her on the steps, but he stayed still at the window, breathing a little fast but seeming very composed. Was he watching for Cersei? Could he see the training yard from here? Brienne felt a small catch in her breath. She took in his broad shoulders, his shining hair and his right arm that was raised to rest alongside the window. He was not wearing his silly gold hand, thank the gods. The sight of his unadorned stump always made her feel ridiculously protective of him, as if that part of Jaime was hers and hers alone. Maybe because it was the part of him Cersei had rejected when he had returned to King's Landing after his maiming, or perhaps because Brienne had seen to it that he lived through the making of it. Brienne shook her head slightly to clear her sentimental thoughts and said quietly "Jaime? Do you mind if I come in?"

Jaime turned from the window suppressing a smile. Maybe he _could_ see Cersei in the yard? But no, this was just his smile for her, almost mocking but with an affection behind it that let her know that however he might tease her and try her she was still his closest friend. _His friend_. Gods how she hated those words sometimes as they rang through her head over and over. She returned his smile, giving him the same: a friendly smile, though one tinged with relief. They had spoken only briefly since his trial, but this was the first time she had seen him alone.

"You've taken your time coming to see me, Wench," he said, "have you been too busy advising my brother on the coming campaign to visit me in my comfortable quarters? As you can see the bed is small and hard, but we could make it work." His smile deepened as he watched her furrow her brow at him and attempt to look affronted. It was true that they had been sharing a bed roll for a long time, ever since he had joined her on her quest for Sansa Stark, and after they had returned the girl to the ruined splendor of Winterfell the habit had continued. Brienne had briefly tried to put a stop to it, but his very convincing arguments in its favor and her weakness of will when it came to being near Jaime had been enough to end any resistance. Besides, it was just sharing each other's warmth in these short frigid days, the only respite they had from battling the undead. It was _friendly_. How ironic that her relationship with Jaime was so like that of a sister, while his relationship with his sister had been anything but.

_Had_ been, right?

Their dark days together often involved a lot of talking as they huddled together to stave off the cold, so they had come to know each other well. Brienne was fairly certain that Cersei's hold on Jaime had faded along with the scars where he had lost his hand. He would always carry the experience, but it would no longer define his life. But now, confronted with not only Cersei's beauty and their history together, the woman would also be with them, living in _their_ world. Some of Brienne's triumph in thinking of what Cersei was in for going on campaign was shaken as she contemplated losing the bond she and Jaime shared.

Brienne gave Jaime's bed an arch look, as if in appraisal. "It is generous of you to offer, but you must realize that my own bed in the Maidenvault is twice as big and thrice as comfortable. It is also nice and _warm_," she taunted with a shiver as a frigid breeze came through the uncovered window.

"They put you in the _Maiden_vault?" Jaime asked incredulously, "The Kingslayer's whore? Brienne the Brazen, breaker of hearts and heads? The Tart of Tarth, the Babe of…" Brienne punched his shoulder, not gently, before he could continue with the long list of names he liked to tease her with.

"Yes, the Maidenvault, no thanks to you." Brienne told him. "Could you have _not_ told those Dothraki guards that you were unable to sleep without me? You know what little gossips they are: '_Sheeth givingth up moreth than thappierth to the Kingthlayer_,'" she mimicked, sounding so like Vargo Hoat that Jaime laughed out loud.

"Was your great dignity compromised, Wench? What do you care what they think?" His green eyes were alight with humor and even though he might expect her to hit him again he did not back away from her.

"I_don't_ care," she answered with asperity, "I grew tired of being called the Maid of Tarth long ago. I am too old and too jaded to be flaunting such a title, whether or not it is true. I simply do not care for the speculation of the entire populace of King's Landing about my reputation."

"What about my reputation?" Jaime sputtered in mock outrage, "No wonder the ladies wink at me like I'm cheap goods, theirs for the right price!" He laid his head against her shoulder and looked up through his lashes at her. She knew what was coming and had to restrain the urge to flick his ear with her fingers. "When are you going to make an honest man of me, Brienne of Tarth?"

Brienne was a little relieved that their ongoing banter had not changed, at least not yet. Would it hold when Cersei was there to witness it? She wasn't sure she could bear it if he stopped trying to annoy her. An ex-lover could tend to come between friends. Brienne drew her fingers through Jaime's hair in order to lift his head off her shoulder. For half a heartbeat he looked up into her eyes and her heart ceased to beat for that instant, resuming again in that out of kilter flutter he sometimes caused. _Damn him, and damn me for wanting him_, she thought.

He chewed his bottom lip briefly as he leaned away from her and then picked up the new tunic he had been about to put on right before she arrived. He held it out with his left hand for her inspection. "Behold, the silver dragon rampant!" he said, showing her the new sigil he would be wearing. She was disappointed to find the coat of arms for the Silver was not sewn to a lavender colored tunic. Brienne had looked forward to teasing him about wearing such a girly color. Oh, well.

"Put it on then and we'll go see about something to eat." Brienne said, "such a shame we won't be sampling Cersei's cooking. She would have made a wonderful kitchen maid." Brienne knew she was poking around a potentially prickly subject, but Jaime just chuckled.

"If Cersei were anywhere near the kitchen we would be out in the stables ringing a chicken's neck for our dinner." He gestured with the tunic at her and she quickly set it over his head so he could shrug into it. Brienne swept up his new cloak, which in the right light might have a purple tint to it, and settled it over his shoulders. He reached out and snugged her own cloak over her right shoulder and held out his right arm to her. She took it.

As they entered the dining hall all eyes turned to them; Brienne was used to being stared at, but she ducked her head a little anyway. She was glad she had changed into her soft brown suede tunic and trousers and taken the time to brush out her hair, so much longer now than it had been back when she had taken service with Lady Catelyn. Occasionally she found it a nuisance when she had to bind it at her neck before donning her helm, but it kept her neck warm, and though she would never admit it she liked the feel of Jaime's breath in it when he lay against her back in their bed roll, speaking of anything that came to mind. The man could talk forever it seemed, and she often drifted off to the sound of his voice. It was one of her favorite things in this bleak and dangerous winter world, and she could face fighting the Others through the long night knowing Jaime would talk her to sleep when they lay down together in the murky hours of daylight.

Being the subject of derision and stares never seemed to bother Jaime. As they entered arm in arm she could swear he seemed almost proud. He had just cheated death again after all, indomitable as ever.

Varys gestured at them from a table near the left wall and even though Jaime growled low in his throat he led them to the former advisor. "Not the Spider," Brienne whispered under her breath, "Have we not dealt with bulbous, useless spiders enough in the north?"

"Unlike an ice spider Varys is not so easily vanquished with dragon glass," Jaime suggested, "though whether a White Walker would like to ride him I cannot say."

Brienne was saved from replying as they arrived at the table of the man, his plumpness filling his silks like a river-swollen corpse. Brienne almost squinted against the brightly colored fabric Varys swathed himself in. The winter sun could not compete against such a display.

"Do try the onion stew," Varys told them eagerly "I am told that Cersei was allowed nowhere near it." If Jaime was bothered by the continued jests about his sister he did not show it. "I understand our former Queen regent has been practicing out in the yards with some of the squires." Varys whispered conspiratorially.

"They should be safe enough playing at swords with her," Jaime said lightly, "Her tongue was always sharper than even Valyrian steel."

Brienne glanced at him in disbelief. This was his second jape at Cersei's expense, but rather than putting her at ease it made her nervous. While he had never hesitated to speak of Cersei it was rarely in a humorous vein. Was he covering some sort of unease about being thrown together with his sister again? Perhaps he was afraid he would not be able to hold onto his resolve against her. Brienne knew he sometimes hid behind humor when his feelings were too close to the surface.

Ser Barristan had asked Brienne is she could take over some of Cersei's battle training, but she had not mentioned it to Jaime yet. The older knight had thought that Brienne might be able to address the differences between the techniques of male and female fighters, differences he was certain he was not qualified to work with. Brienne supposed as much as he relished teaching Cersei a lesson, watching her spar with a superior fighter, a supposed romantic rival, would be even more satisfying. Brienne doubted Cersei saw her as a human being, much less a rival, but she would do as she had been asked and teach her some basic techniques for fighting the Others. It was almost in her to pity Jaime's former lover, going into the harsh wilderness after a lifetime of ease.

_Almost_.

Servants brought trenchers of food to the table for them. Both Jaime and Brienne turned down the onion soup. They would be forced to eat onions aplenty in camp.

"May I join you?" said a courteous voice from behind Brienne. She looked up and was a little surprised to see Loras Tyrell. Varys moved aside and Jaime gestured for him to sit. Brienne had seen little of Loras over the years, but her discomfort around him had never eased. She accepted now that he had been Renly's lover, and he had accepted that she did not kill Renly, but on the rare occasions their paths crossed they tended to keep their distance from each other. Loras looked lovely as always, and Brienne had the sour thought that while she could best him in combat he was still prettier than her and more able to get the guy. She had long ago realized her infatuation with Renly had been somewhat girlish, that in her youthful naiveté she had fallen for a man who was unattainable in so many ways. It was not just that he was handsome and a king, but that deep down she had recognized how unthreatening his somewhat effeminate tendencies were; quite safe for an inexperienced and insecure girl to throw her heart at. She had come to know that having a mad crush on a man capable of loving a woman, just not her, was much more painful.

Jaime had never tired of teasing her about fancying Renly, or in fact any man he guessed was especially disinterested in the company of women. Now he bumped her thigh with his own and gave her a cheeky grin when Loras wasn't looking. She rolled her eyes at him and dipped her bread through the grease pooling in her trencher, not joining in when Jaime and Loras exchanged greetings. Loras would be going with them on their journey north, having only recently returned from fighting the Others as well. They had not been defending the same areas, but now under Tyrion's command they would be combining forces to prevent the White Walkers and Wights from lurching further south.

Varys tried valiantly to remain in the conversation as it went out of his league with discussions of the best materials to use when burning the undead and recently dead, and which sword cuts could incapacitate a White Walker long enough to torch them. He seemed a little pouty that Jaime had Loras' full attention and for a moment she found this amusing. Then she thought to watch Loras and decided maybe she didn't like his focus on Jaime either. Would she and Loras ever not be attracted to the same man?

She sighed and took a gulp of her wine, a beverage she had come to appreciate in limited amounts for its ability to calm and relax her in awkward or stressful situations. She could not claim any knowledge about vintages, but as the wine rolled about on her tongue Brienne found she liked it much better than the sour stuff they had been drinking when they camped, or on the rare occasions when they able to find a tavern to pass the night in. As she let the wine rest in her mouth a moment before swallowing she thought she tasted a little bit of purple plum like those that grew on Tarth, and, was that? Yes, a hint of vanilla bean, a rare treat. This wine was like a taste of summer, and the spreading warmth of that thought had her thinking wistfully of home and whether she would ever see another summer there.

She was glancing around at Daenerys' attempts to re-Targaryen the dining hall with the traditional red and black of the family crest along with her colors for the Silver (did the new Queen realize how poorly purple and red mixed?). She was admiring the artfully arranged smallish dragon skulls on the walls when she heard Jaime guffaw loudly and Loras give a happy little chuckle. Her eyes cut to them and their sparkling eyes…were they_flirting_? Even Varys seemed strangely pleased. She really needed to get out took another mouthful of the wine.

Later she walked with Jaime back to his cell, followed at a distance by the Dothraki guards. Brienne stumbled a little over nothing at all and Jaime offered her his arm. "Are you drunk, my lady?" he asked cheerfully. Did he sound a little hopeful? No, that was just muddled thinking, though she wouldn't put it past him to enjoy having another excuse to tease her.

"I am not." She said with measured dignity. Oh, gods, was she? Brienne refused the offered arm and tried to get back into her no nonsense stride, but she wobbled a little. Brienne of Tarth simply did not _wobble_. The harder she tried to regain her dignity the more it fled from her and she felt her face flaming from the wine and embarrassment. Jaime had seen her over the years in sickness and pain, in elation when they rescued Sansa, in agonized shyness the first couple dozen times she woke up next to him, but she had only drunk too much around him a couple of times and he always made as much of her befuddled state as he could.

"Do I need to carry you, lass?" he said in mock sympathy. "I'm man enough to do it."

"You are mad enough to attempt it, you mean," she told him with a little slur.

"It would not be the first time I carried you, Wench, nor would it be the last. Remember that time the ice spider rent your thigh, or the time –"

Brienne did remember. "You are _not_ flinging me over your shoulder and carrying me. I can walk."

"I could try to carry you like a babe in arms, if you would hold on to my shoulders," Jaime offered.

By then they had made it to his cell, to Brienne's great relief. She turned to go before he could be more ridiculous.

"Brienne?" she heard him say behind her.

"Yes?" she said without turning around.

She waited what seemed a long time before he said softly "Good night." And she made her way back to the Maidenvault and her warm but empty bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Jaime was awoken by the sound of his own snoring. When did he get old enough to _snore_? He turned onto his other side and tried to go back to sleep. He lay for several minutes squeezing his eyes shut against the wan light coming through his window before he abruptly flung himself onto his back and threw his right arm over his eyes. It wasn't the light keeping him awake, he knew. It was not the hard bed or even the cold. He flipped over onto his stomach, scrunching the sorry excuse for a pillow under his head as he stared at the wall. He wondered if they had Stark Swan pillows in the Maidenvault. He imagined Brienne's peacefully sleeping face, sunk into a soft pillow, her breathing even and comforting. _She_didn't snore. Unless she had drunk too much, and last night she definitely had. He closed his eyes again and imagined her peacefully sleeping face, but in his mind her mouth hung slightly open over her large teeth and her breath came out in quiet little hums, almost like a cat's purr. The longer Jaime kept this picture in his mind the more he relaxed, until, at last, he dropped off to sleep.

An hour or two later he woke up again not feeling particularly refreshed, but a little better than he had. He hadn't been lying when he told the Dothraki guards that he couldn't get to sleep without Lady Brienne. His heart thumped a little harder when he wondered if she had had any difficulty sleeping alone in her bed in the Maidenvault. If she, too, had felt strangely incomplete without him next to her.

He hoped she had gotten back there safely since she had been having a little difficulty walking straight the night before. It would have been more chivalrous to walk her back to her room, he thought now. But she hadn't been _very_ drunk; he had seen her a good deal more inebriated than last night, and more than a few times.

They had been through a lot together, good times and bad times, and sometimes they shared a drink in camp or in a tavern, if they were very lucky. He smiled to himself remembering how silly she could get when they had reason to drink and celebrate, when they could afford to just relax without being constantly alert for danger. Jaime thought of how she would let herself giggle at his jokes, and how her eyes would get so lively and flirtatious when she stopped worrying over her dignity, forgot to feel insecure about her looks. Gods, how she would look at him then, and not look away so quickly when he looked back at her with his own heart in his eyes. Jaime thought about how her limbs loosened with the alcohol until the grace he usually only saw her move with when she was wielding a sword came to her naturally, unfettered by her usual sober demeanor. He loved to see Brienne allow herself to be happy, to set aside the weight on her shoulders for just a little while.

Then there were those times when things were so bad and hopeless that they both would drink too much just trying to forget the horrors they had lived through nearly every night since winter had set in. Having to set fire to the still warm corpse of a comrade in arms to prevent them rising from the dead was terrible, but not as soul crushing as having to hack to bits someone they used to know, dead eyes transformed into an eerie blue without a spark of life in them, and then afterwards to torch the bodies all the same. He and Brienne had an unspoken rule about not acknowledging later how maudlin they would become or how they would cling to each other in their sorrow and fear during those times. Jaime wasn't sure which of them had decided they couldn't broach what happened and how they behaved in those unguarded moments, but it had become their way not to speak of it.

He wondered where Brienne was right now. Had she broken her fast? Was she closeted with his brother Tyrion helping to plan the campaign? Jaime felt a little stung that he hadn't been invited to those councils, but the feelings between him and Tyrion were still a bit raw, and he realized that as a prisoner, even a highborn one, it would not do for him to sit in council with the new queen.

Tyrion had killed their lord father after Jaime had helped him to escape the dungeons of the Red Keep, but Jaime had found he could not blame himself or Tyrion for that. In these days of unnatural evil it was difficult to forgive a man like Tywin Lannister, who had seemed to ruin lives with as little thought as a mindless wight.

He knew now that Tyrion hadn't killed his bastard son, Joffrey. The coin had flipped wrong on Joffrey, and his death had caused sorrow to few other than Cersei. His poisoning had been orchestrated by Petyr Baelish, the man who had also hidden away Sansa Stark. Baelish had flown to his death back at the Eyrie, a fate not nearly painful enough for him in Jaime's eyes. It was Baelish who had set in motion the events that led to Brienne going on her quest to find Sansa, and without that she would have been spared what she had suffered at the hands of the Brotherhood. Jaime keenly felt his own guilt for the harms done her since he had given her that quest along with his sword, Oathkeeper.

_Too many dark thoughts for one morning_, Jaime thought as he rose from his bed and ran his hands through his hair. He would have to see about getting a hot bath before they got back into the unremitting filth of the road and battle. He left the tower, whistling for the guards to follow him. The Dothraki's on duty exchanged an annoyed look before following Jaime as though he was in charge.

At the Maidenvault Jaime asked the chaperone guarding the entrace if Brienne of Tarth was still within her room but was informed that she had left to meet Ser Barristan not long ago. The ancient woman on duty looked Jaime up and down distastefully and began to shut the vault door. Jaime tried to give her a winning smile while keeping the door open with his left hand.

"I need to speak with the Lady," he said, "do you know where she and Ser Barristan were headed?"

Unmoved, the woman shook her head briefly and made shooing motions with her wrinkled hands. _So much for the legendary charm of the Kingslayer_, thought Jaime.

He headed for the practice yards to see if she had gone there. He didn't think she would go to spar without asking him along, but Barristan might have wanted her opinion on the variety of weapons needed for the campaign.

_Gods_, it occurred to Jaime, _what if_Cersei_is there_?

So far he had been able to mostly avoid his sister, going so far as to bribe his guards to tell her he was not allowed visitors in Traitor's Walk. He did not know if she had attempted to see him there, but he hoped she was as disinclined to his company as he was to hers. He had been alarmed to hear she would be taking the Silver with him, but had avoided thinking about any possible implications. Brienne did not seem concerned about it at least. He had been surprised by her little jest the other day, but it heartened him that she was not dwelling on Cersei's presence.

Jaime knew very well that Brienne and Cersei did not care for one another. Brienne had been reticent when it came to expressing her dislike, but it was clearly there. When Jaime had spoken of Cersei so often in the first several months that he and Brienne had spent looking for Sansa it had been less about the love and passion they had shared and more about the anguish of her betrayal and rejection. Brienne had been all sympathy and quiet understanding, and over time he had come to see his relationship with Cersei in a different light, or maybe it could be called an_indifferent_ light. He still spoke of Cersei from time to time, but with less bitterness and far less longing. Brienne, when she spoke of it at all, seemed to feel that Cersei lacked honor and loyalty. One time, after a few cups of a particularly potent ale, Brienne had referred to Cersei in an angry voice as a "spineless bitch" and a "horrible harpy." At the time he wondered if Brienne might be jealous about Cersei, that just maybe she was beginning to have more than friendly feelings for him. But as he could detect no sign of romantic regard after that incident he had put it down to his own vanity and, to be honest with himself, his own barely acknowledged hope that Brienne was starting to feel for him the same pangs of infatuation he had begun to feel for her. Alas he was still chasing after that elusive spark that might show him that she felt for him what he had come to feel for her.

Cersei had hated Brienne before she had ever seen or met her. His sister lived for jealousy and animosity, so when he had returned with Brienne, but without his hand, to King's Landing, she had blistered the air with cruel names for her and for him as well. At the time he had wanted nothing more than to be back in Cersei's arms and back in her bed, but even then his developing respect for Brienne had made him uncomfortable with Cersei's vitriol. Of course he was used to how passionately his lover could _hate_ something or someone, but Cersei had been the only woman in his life since their mother had died, and he had known naught else. He had borne her demands and fulfilled her whims, and taken pleasure in the insular world they shared. It had seemed like it was meant to be; he had once believed that she was his and he was hers and that that would never change. For someone who was considered a man without honor and an oath breaker, he was in fact a man made to be faithful and true, and Cersei had thrown that back in his face.

Jaime sighed to himself. _Still lost in dark thoughts this morning_, and what he needed was to find Brienne and stop dwelling on his past with Cersei.

He rounded the corner to the training yard, and was pleased to see Brienne just suiting up in her armor. She was adjusting the straps of the plate on her long left leg, which was held slightly bent in front of her, raised up by her toes like a dancer. Jaime stopped in the shadows to watch her suit up, something he rarely got to do as they usually both rushed to arm up before night fell. His throat went dry as he watched her secure the top straps of the thigh guard to the strap dangling from the front of the wide leather belt that cinched in her waist. She bent lower to secure the straps holding the hinged piece near her inner thigh before moving on to the greaves. Her hair fell forward over her face as she twisted her torso to get to the straps, and he could see the flex of her calf muscles as she pointed her toes even more to raise her lower leg into an easier position to strap. The sun was barely cresting the horizon, but its rays limned her in light, outlining her figure, burning her erotic, completely un-self conscious pose into his senses. Finished with her left leg, Brienne quickly repeated the process with her right, unaware that Jaime watched her every movement in a self-indulgent daze of desire. She drew herself up and reached for her breastplate, which flowed nearly as smoothly across her chest as a man's armor, but tapered to her waist, the fauld flairing out over her hips. Brienne quickly put on her gorget and the remaining shoulder and arm pieces and reached back to gather up her long blonde hair and secure it at her neck.

Jaime quickly looked down at himself to be sure his tunic and cloak hid how aroused he was. Before she could don her helm he strode out of the shadows calling out "There's my Wench! I've been looking all over for you."

Brienne turned her head to look at him, a small, dimpled smile lighting her face before an imperious voice from out of view said "How sweet. Come to watch our lessons, brother?"

_Fuuuuuuckk_.

Cersei. What was the phrase he had learned from Tyrion about how quickly a man could go from rigid to retreat? Cock killer? Ball shriveler? Hearing Cersei's voice in that instant he wasn't sure he would be able to even find his cock when next he needed to pee.

Brienne's smile had vanished as quickly as Jaime's desire. She took in his stricken face and her own burned with a vivid blush.

Jaime turned to Cersei, who he was surprised to see was also suited up in armor, holding her little gold colored helm in the crook of her arm. He tried to shake off his shock and dismay as he said "Sister. My lady. I had not expected to find you here."

"I rather believe you were not _expecting_ to find me anywhere." Cersei said coldly.

_Gods, she could freeze the balls off a rutting boar_, he thought. He composed his features into a cocksure expression, pure vintage Kingslayer, and gave her a smile. "On the contrary, I had heard you would be training in preparation for taking the Silver. I merely expected you to be training with Ser Barristan the Bold."

"Ser Barristan the _Old_, you mean. But no, he has passed me off to the Beastly Brienne, who, it is supposed, has some insight into how _women_should fight."

Brienne's eyes were on Jaime, and Cersei's use of _beastly_ to describe her brought to mind one of the first unkind things he had ever said about her: _this great beast of a woman_. Did Brienne remember? Gods, would she think he had said the same of her to Cersei sometime? Jaime cursed himself for not thinking harder on what would happen when Brienne and Cersei were flung together on this campaign. Brienne could beat nearly anyone in a fair fight, but off the field he doubted her ability to out-bitch Cersei.

"Lady Brienne," Jaime said, "is the finest trainer you could wish to find, and if you hope to survive out there against the Others you will learn everything that you can from her."

"Ah," said Cersei, her green eyes glinting with malice, "Like how to be the Kingslayer's Whore?"

Brienne's voice, nearly as cold as Cersei's, said "I believe you already know how to be that."

Both Jaime and Cersei's heads snapped towards Brienne, who had bent down to pick up her own helm.

Jaime was completely lost for a moment. He was sorely tempted to take Brienne in his arms and give her a passionate kiss to show just who the real Kingslayer's Whore was. But she wasn't, not really, and she would not thank him undermining her purpose in being here, which was to train Cersei so that she might survive and even be some use outside of her little realm of intrigue and politics.

Brienne settled her helm over her head, the cut of the faceplate outlining her amazing blue eyes, which were now looking at Jaime, hot with some emotion. Apprehension? Anger? Resignation? He could not tell with the rest of her face obscured. He met her eyes with his own for a few heartbeats, trying to school his expression so his own turmoil might not be evident to Cersei.

He nodded briefly to Brienne, giving her a small smile before turning back to Cersei.

"Sister, I would ask that you show some respect to Lady Brienne, who now out-classes you on more than one level. You will be a foot soldier in this war we go to fight, and your survival is no sure thing out there where we all must depend on each other's readiness for battle."

"And _you_ will not protect me, my love?" Cersei asked sweetly, attempting to walk seductively up to Jaime in her heavy armor. Her thighs clanked together and her greaves made her stiff-legged.

_Was she serious_, Jaime thought, _could she really think he was likely to fall under her spell after all this time and all that had happened_?

"Cersei," he said, almost gently, "we all protect each other, out there." He gestured with his chin toward the north.

"But you are _her_ protector, are you not?" she hissed, the sweetness vanishing in the blink of her cat-like eyes.

Jaime glanced at Brienne nervously, _I am hers and she is mine_, he thought, but did not say it. _Help me, Brienne, for I have no words for what we are to each other_.

"He is my brother in arms, and we do what we must so that we both survive." Brienne said flatly.

_No, that wasn't it_, thought Jaime, but then he wasn't so sure. He was beginning to despise being anyone's _brother_.


	4. Chapter 4

"Sister, I would ask that you show some respect to Lady Brienne, who now out-classes you on more than one level. You will be a foot soldier in this war we go to fight, and your survival is no sure thing out there where we all must depend on each other's readiness for battle." Jaime told Cersei.

"And _you_ will not protect me, my love?" Cersei had asked, her voice dripping seduction as she advanced on Jaime in her new armor. Brienne sighed inwardly, noting Cersei's curved breastplate, the inviting way she batted her eyelashes at Jaime. _Though_ _she_ _moves in it like an arthritic old cat_, Brienne told herself with some satisfaction, _of course_I _move in a fine dress like a trussed up turkey._

"Cersei," Jaime said, "we all protect each other, out there." Did she note tenderness in his manner? At least he had not outright agreed that he would be protecting Cersei above all else.

"But you are _her_ protector, are you not?" Cersei had accused.

Brienne could hardly remember a time she and Jaime had not stood side by side or back to back against danger and in defense of those around them. In truth they _did_ protect each other, working as almost a single creature, together greater and mightier than half a dozen other warriors. Just as they slept together and ate together, where there was one there was always the other. Brienne felt her eyes prick with threatening tears at the thought of that not always being true.

"He is my brother in arms, and we do what we must so that we both survive." She told Cersei, but it was Jaime's face she watched.

Jaime looked between Brienne and Cersei, seeming unsure of what to say or how to break the tension between the three of them. Brienne had been afraid of this, had wondered how they could possibly exist peaceably together. If they couldn't do it here in the training yard how were they to manage it when the only way to survive was to band together or perish?

_Why did he not speak_?

She wondered if he was very angry at her for implying his sister was a whore a few minutes ago. Once she might have chided herself for throwing Cersei's words back at her, but she found that her only regret now was having suggested that Cersei was the _Kingslayer's_ whore. Let her go be somebody else's whore. There would be plenty of men in the camp who would be thrilled to be wound around her vicious little finger.

Gods, just don't let it be Jaime, she prayed.

"If you will put on your helm My lady, we can begin." She said courteously to Cersei, and Jaime took that as a good time to retreat to the hay bales to watch them, joining a small assortment of men, including Loras and Ser Barristan, that had come out in the swirling snow to watch them.

Brienne was surprised to see Tyrion there also, perched on a bale of hay he had swept clean of snow, looking almost like a child out to watch a tourney, if one didn't look at the seam of scar across his nose and face. _Still, not as ugly as_my _scar_, thought Brienne. How capricious of the gods to make the already freakish even more conspicuous, while blessing someone like Jaime's horrible sister with looks which did not match her deeds. Hah, was horrible too kind a word? Try malignant, scheming, _grasping_…

Brienne turned back to Cersei, who looked up into Brienne's face, sneering. If the White Walkers were susceptible to scary expressions, thought Brienne, then Cersei would do just fine in the north. But they weren't, so Brienne sought to continue their lesson.

Cersei had still not put her helm on, so Brienne asked "Do you need assistance settling your helm, My lady?"

Cersei coyly tossed her head, setting her hair flickering in the breeze that had come up, "Is it really necessary? It's not as though you will be using a sword against me."

_Yet_, Brienne told herself, taking a deep breath for patience.

"It is important to get used to having the weight of a helmet on your head, so that your neck muscles may develop strength."

"I see that has worked out very well for you, my lady," Cersei said with a pointed look at Brienne's gorget-covered neck before she finally put on her own helm, which was decorated with small silver lions inlaid about the eyes and cheek guards.

Brienne felt her face burn beneath her helm, knowing that Cersei was referring to her own thickly muscled neck. Cersei's neck was slender and graceful, and Brienne wanted to grasp it like that of a Stark Swan and choke her. _Cersei would make an especially unappealing Ice Goose stew_, thought Brienne with a tiny shudder.

First she began by working on Cersei's stance, showing her how to plant her feet wide apart so as not to be easily knocked over.

"If I were teaching you tourney fighting we would go through how to move around your opponent effectively while keeping yourself balanced, but that kind of finesse is useless in the snow, where standing your ground is more important."

Cersei continued to watch Brienne as though she was a particularly repulsive bug for a while, but eventually she seemed to get caught up a little in the instruction. Brienne had not allowed her a practice sword or a shield yet, preferring to cover some basics that most squires learned by the time they were seven or eight years old.

"As women we do not have the same musculature as men," Brienne said, and Cersei huffed out a particularly un-ladylike snort.

"That may be the case for one of us," Cersei snarked, "it certainly holds no truth in _your_ case."

Brienne glanced to where Jaime sat watching, relieved he could not hear the conversation. She knew he could get downright violent when he thought somebody was being offensive to Brienne, but she had no idea how he would react to his sister's goads. How far would he be pushed before he had to choose a side?

Brienne smiled grimly down at Cersei and continued with her task. They stood side by side in the same stance, feet planted, forearms pulled in to their chests as though they were about to throw a punch.

_Or imitate chickens_, thought Brienne.

She showed Cersei how to twist her torso around to one side and then use the power of her hips to propel her shoulders back to center, only snapping out the sword arm toward the end of the movement, keeping her shield arm protectively bent in front of her.

She was gratified to see Cersei execute the move without difficulty.

"You see," she explained to Cersei handing her a light practice sword, "lacking the strength in our arms and shoulders, if we swing a sword like a man it has little power behind it." She allowed Cersei to swing the sword from her shoulder, knowing that most beginners would make that movement when presented with a sword. "Now, if you use the power of your hips to drive your blow you will deliver a stronger cut, and be able to recover more quickly, always bringing your sword back home to your shield to protect yourself." Cersei pulled the sword in as Brienne had shown her, rotated her shoulders and then twisted back, snapping out the blunted sword.

"Good!" praised Brienne. Cersei had a little glow in her eyes, _was that pride and interest?_ wondered Brienne. She remembered her first lessons with a real master at arms, and how a little instruction had made the sword seem to sing in her hand. She hoped Cersei might be feeling some of that same excitement. Jaime had told her once that Cersei had always lamented not having the same opportunities and powers that any man was granted as a birthright. Wielding a sword was one of the few things a woman could do to have some power of her own, Brienne thought, though she doubted Cersei had thought through what being a knight, or even a squire, really entailed. Be careful what you wish for girl, she thought ruefully.

"So a lot of our strength comes from our hips?" Cersei asked, still swinging from side to side, punching out with the practice sword.

"It does," Brienne confirmed.

"Then you must be the most powerful of us all. With those child-bearing hips and _sturdy_ thighs it's a wonder you haven't pushed out a passel of squalling brats," Cersei stopped and gave Brienne a triumphant smile, "but I suppose that would require a man to want to bed you."

_Fuuuuuuckk_.

How had Jaime ever survived this woman? If being a desirable woman meant she had to be a woman like Cersei then Brienne would rather reach inside and pull her womb out through her own throat. Brienne looked over at Jaime again, and noticed Cersei was also looking intently at him. He looked uneasy under their scrutiny and pretended to look around himself as though to find what they were looking for. The other men watched the lesson avidly; completely unaware of the beating Brienne was taking.

Brienne picked up a tourney sword of her own and called Cersei's attention back to her training.

"Next, I think we should work on how you grip a sword," she announced.

Cersei laughed throatily and said "That is a skill I perform very well already, I should think," throwing a meaningful glance in Jaime's direction.

Brienne could hold back no longer. "It is a good skill to have, My lady," she said, "but to be sure the hilt of a sword is unlikely to become _softer_ in your hand no matter _how_ you treat it, which might lead you to think your hold on it is more secure than it is." And with that Brienne smoothly went into the proper way to hold a broadsword, managing _not_ to look pointedly at Jaime. _It is not for nothing_, she thought, _that I endured listening to the camp followers squawk about their conquests_. She was glad Jaime hadn't heard her, or she would never live down pretending to experience she didn't have.

Brienne sank back in the bath as far as she was able. What she wouldn't give for a proper tub, something more along the lines of a hot spring, long enough to properly stretch her legs under the water, to drift and submerge all but her nose, letting the water slosh over her eyes and forehead, to sift like fingers through her hair. It didn't even have to be a hot spring. What she really wanted, Brienne decided, was a warm summer day and the salt waters around Tarth, one of the little coves she knew of where she could be alone. She tried to put herself there in her mind, imagined she could hear the calling of sea birds high overhead, the grumbles of parrots in the trees, quarreling half-heartedly over fruits and nuts, the _shhh shhh shhh_ of the surf as it rocked her in the buoyancy of salt water, soothing on her naked skin. The sun could bring out the freckles on her flesh all it wanted, she wouldn't care. No one would care, while she dreamed there in the water.

But that was the problem; her dreams had been of valor and chivalry, honor and sacrifice. She had followed those dreams and ended up here, in this piss-pit of a city, teaching the likes of Cersei Lannister, no, Cersei _Waters_, how to combat the undead when they traveled back to the frozen hell of the north, to live or die at the world's end, far from home. Despite all that she had gone through Brienne still believed she had chosen the correct path. She had rescued Sansa, and she had done good in the world. She had fulfilled her vows as best she could. She regretted her scars and mourned for her losses, but it was still better than being trapped by marriage, living her life to satisfy a man who never wanted _her_ in the first place, who only took her to gain the island of Tarth. She thought of Hyle Hunt, and his many proposals. His suit had eventually seemed sincere, for he had grown to regard her with some affection but she did not return the feeling.

At one time she thought she might have been grateful for someone like Ser Hyle. _In the dark you'd be as beautiful as any woman,_ he had told her. No, she never would have been grateful for someone like Hyle; in the dark he would be as hoggish as any man. Why did men assume a woman would be grateful for their regard, yet give no thought to how they themselves were regarded?

Brienne turned to the side in her cramped tub, curling into herself, the light of the fire in the room's brazier beating against her closed eyes. She thought of Jaime and found herself holding her breath to keep from letting out the sobs threatening to escape, trying to stem the tears stinging beneath her lids. Everything had been nearly perfect, if you didn't count the undead and the cold and the lack of decent food, the stink and hopelessness…she could bear it all with Jaime by her side. He didn't have to return her love, not the kind of love she felt for him, anyway. He did love her in his own way, she was sure of that. She was _not_ about to say he loved her like a sister. Okay, if he loved her like he had _loved_ his sister…but no, that was just icky. Whatever they had together was wonderful, and it had been enough. Would it be enough to keep Cersei from coming between them?

And then Brienne did allow herself to cry, eventually falling asleep in tears as salty as the blue waters of Tarth, her bath water growing colder around her.

Brienne hurried across the courtyard to Traitor's Walk, taking the steps two at a time to Jaime's chamber, the eyes of the Dothraki guards following her form as she climbed. She arrived slightly breathless at Jaime's door, pausing to compose herself before she knocked.

"Enter," Jaime's voice called from within. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. Her eyes widened as she took in Jaime's freshly trimmed beard, his neatly combed hair. He sat on the bed, chin in hand, and looked up at her questioningly, "Where have you been? I had thought we were going to eat together. I'm nearly hungry enough to eat onion stew."

"Only if Cersei hasn't been near it," Brienne said, hoping he would smile at her little jape. He did. "Shall we go now, then? I am hungry as well."

Jaime stood and stretched ostentatiously, even going so far as to yawn loudly. Brienne stood and quietly admired his figure, hoping it looked like she was just being patient with his display. She knew he did this on purpose, that the man had an ego like a lion and enjoyed having admiring eyes upon him. She gave him a sly look and said "If you're quite finished, we should go before Varys has eaten everything worth having."

"Gods, do you think he's still there? You're at least an hour late."

"Perhaps not, but it you're lucky maybe Ser Loras will be there to laugh at your jokes and tell you you're pretty." Brienne said, trying to look coyly at him.

Jaime laughed and reached out to grab her around the waist and pull her to him. Brienne tried to hide her surprise as he held her against him. He put his mouth near her ear and said "if I make you laugh will _you_ tell me I'm pretty?"

"You're pretty enough, I suppose," Brienne said in what she hoped was a steady voice.

"Gods, your hair smells good," Jaime said, sniffing close enough to her ear to make her shiver. He leaned back from her a little and tilted his head, "and it looks good enough to eat, too. Have you been doing something new to it?"

Brienne was about to answer when Jaime lifted his hand and pushed a strand of it off her cheek, smoothing it down to her shoulder. _Torture_, she thought and resisted the urge to purr like a kitten.

"I washed it." She said.

"I can see that. Washed it with what?"

"Oh, something the maidservant gave me. It was sudsy and had some kind of flower ground into it."

Jaime took a deep, exaggerated breath, "I like it. Your hair smells like summer." He released her waist then and picked his cloak up from the bed, swinging it easily about his shoulders single handed.

"Let's go. You never did tell me why you're so late. Were you in council?"

"No, I took a bath, as you have already guessed."

"It's a wonder you don't look like one of Bolton's prunes."

"I suppose it is. I fell asleep in the tub."

"Ah, much like I did in the tubs of Harrenhal?"

"_Not_ like you did in the tubs of Harrenhal."

Jaime grinned at her, "Wish I had been there to pull you out, Wench."

Brienne laughed, the Harrenhal baths being a subject they often joked about. "My name is _Brienne_," she told him, still laughing.

"It is 'Wench' if I say it is." Jaime said smugly. "So come share a meal with me, Wench, and we'll see if your hair can compete with that of the gorgeous Loras."


	5. Chapter 5

Jaime took Brienne's right hand in his left and led her from his room. At first his fingers just folded over hers as he pulled her down the stairs, enjoying her breathless laughter. At the bottom of the stairs Jaime nodded to his guards, the same two who had been on duty the night before. Both guards seemed to be smiling at the pair holding hands and Jaime turned to look at Brienne. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shining at him. He gripped her hand a little tighter and then moved his hand around so that their fingers were entwined.

This wasn't the first time he had taken her by the hand and pulled her somewhere he wanted her to go, but it occurred to him that he had probably never held her hand like this before, like young lovers might when going for a stroll. Jaime wondered if he should make some remark, perhaps a little joke about how he had claimed her fingers and now had a full set, or how with her right hand captured she only had one hand left to flick his ear with, but something like good sense stopped him.

_If I call her attention to it_, he thought, _she might find a reason to pull away_. But maybe by _not_ remarking on this small change in the way they touched each other it could become habit to them, like the way she would place his tunic over his head to make it easier to shrug his arms into the sleeves, or how he would hold her hair back while she fastened her gorget, or arrange his arm and shoulder under her head as a pillow when they went to sleep.

Jaime wondered suddenly if this was what it was like to court someone. With Cersei there had never been a courtship, there had been no need. They wanted each other, yes, but there had not been that heady feeling of infatuation, the process of discovering the mysteries of another person, of starting to fall for them and wondering if they might be falling for you. How strange that he and Brienne seemed to know each other so intimately, but still sometimes behaved like skittish foals around each other over the littlest things. They could lay curled together in sleep like an old married couple, dress each other's wounds, had even seen one another naked more than once, but feeling his fingers entangled with hers had him nervous and questioning. Gods, he hoped his hand didn't start to sweat. A small chuckle escaped his throat, followed by another and another until he was laughing outright.

"What's funny?" asked Brienne with a puzzled smile.

"Nothing," Jaime said, trying to stifle his mirth, "and _everything_." It was an apt description for what they were to each other, he thought. Suddenly he very much wanted to kiss her, to press his lips against hers and see her reaction. But no, that was too much. Maybe he could just kiss her knuckles? Again, too much.

Still, this could be a little like a lover's stroll, couldn't it? Inspiration struck and he led over to the stone passage leading down into the cells below: "My lady, would you like a tour of the dungeons?"

Brienne bit her full bottom lip, looking both bemused and concerned. "The dungeons? Do you have friends down there?"

And a sudden thought struck him, "Oh Gods, they're not keeping Cersei down there, are they?"

Brienne pursed her lips and looked at him askance. "No, she is being housed in the Maidenvault, same as me."

Jaime guffawed, "I think it's about time they thought of renaming the Maidenvault; I was under the impression it was just for maidens."

Brienne blushed. This had been a mysterious subject for quite a while between them. When he first knew her she had been the Maid of Tarth, and proud to claim the title, but after Lady Stoneheart and the Brave Companions, somewhere between the time she had left with Oathkeeper and returned to him at Pennytree, she never spoke of it again, and was evasive when he brought it up, however subtly. She smiled at his jests and kept her own secrets.

"The Maidenvault has long been used to house sundry guests of the crown," she told him, "though currently it only houses unmarried women and girls."

Jaime's breath caught in his throat with the desire to know what she could be hiding. If she was no longer a maid, had it been Hyle or some other nameless ruffian? Had she fallen for someone after Renly and had her heart broken again? He wanted to slay them all, not just knock out a mouthful of teeth as he had done to Red Ronnet.

Brienne took in Jaime's suddenly serious expression and asked "Are you _very_ familiar with the dungeons? I have wondered what they are like. I imagine them to be like the pits of hell, though with a worse odor."

"Yes, that about describes them," said Jaime, "There are four levels, with the final one being so horrifying I am told you would be struck blind were there light enough to see."

"Oh, yes," Brienne said sarcastically, "by all means, _please_ give me a tour of the dungeons Ser Jaime. What a fine idea. And then we can go see if we still have an appetite for onion stew and pickled pigs' feet."

"You know, I think I hear your stomach growling." He said, "How about we go on to the dining hall and save the dungeons for another time?"

"My stomach did _no_t growl."

"It did. It sounded like a dying aurochs. Arrrruhg arrg," He mimicked. It was a good thing he had hold of her right hand so she couldn't smack him. He tightened his grip on her fingers. _Let her do it left-handed then, at least the blow would be weaker, _he told himself.

She started off toward the door to the courtyard, pulling him along with her. He went willingly.

In the courtyard the light of the short day had long since fled and an icy fog had set in. The torches on the parapets around them glowed hazily through the mist. As they walked toward the collection of buildings that housed the dining hall the fog swept around them like a white cloak, enfolding them in silence. _Like somewhere not of this world_, Jaime thought, _just she and I, alone_.

Out of the eerie stillness a horse whickered and a gate slammed and the spell was broken.

"I feel terrible that I have not visited Sean since we arrived," Brienne said, "I hope he is being well cared for and that they have remembered his warm blue blanket."

"They would not dare to neglect the fearsome Brienne of Tarth's horse," Jaime told her, "I am certain he is being spoilt rotten and will refuse to carry you back to the north again."

"He does so hate the spiders," Brienne said, "ever since that one got past the torches and wounded his flank. Have you been to see Ser Fluffy Tail?"

"His name is Reginald the Regal, you know."

"I like the name Tommen graced him with better, and since he was king at the time, it must stand. _Did_ he actually knight the horse?"

"I think he may have," Jaime said, "for the horse takes on airs and demands special treatment. He is no hedge knight and deplores having to mix with the lower classes." _Such as Hyle_, he thought, but did not say it out loud.

He thought briefly about his son Tommen, now safely living at Casterly rock, albeit with a guard of Daenerys' choosing to stem any attempt to rally support for the former king to take back the throne. A waste of resources, Jaime figured, since Tommen would rather woo girls by showing them his collection of castle cats. Ah, to be that young again, and that innocent.

They had arrived at the group of buildings that housed the dining hall and went inside, glad to be out of the cold. Jaime was gratified that so far Brienne had not tried to retrieve her hand from his. _She is trying not to mention it as well_, he thought, and hoped it was because she, too, hoped it would become a habit and not because she was just humoring him.

As they entered the dining hall all eyes seemed once again to turn to them, to sweep over them in curiosity. No one seemed surprised to see their hands clasped. Jaime supposed the only people surprised by it were he and Brienne. It was commonly assumed the two of them were lovers, had been lovers for a long while.

The long tables of the hall were surprisingly full, and even Daenerys had decided to grace the people with her presence. She sat at a table near one of the smaller braziers with Jorah Mormon, Ser Barristan, and Missandei. A handful of Dothrakis were also included in the Queen's entourage, men and women all with their dusky chests semi-exposed and goose-fleshed in the cold. Ser Jorah sat as close to the queen as he could get away with, alternately making moon eyes at her and watching every man around them suspiciously. He looked like a dog guarding a steak that was way too hot for him to eat, one he had burned his tongue on more than once.

As Jaime and Brienne took in the people at the table their attention was caught by an enormous dragon skull hung from the rafters over the queen's table, seeming to leer down at the occupants of the hall.

"She's been decorating again," Brienne noted in a low voice, trying not to stare. The huge skull hung from a series of leather bands, its jaw wired open into a snarl with dried sinew.

"Is it…" Jaime paused, his mouth hanging open briefly, "breathing fire?"

Brienne studied it and pronounced "No, just smoke." They began to walk casually to a table near the opposite wall from the dragon skull.

"Gods," said Jaime in amazement, "she's had the brazier's pipe re-directed so the smoke vents out its mouth. I just knew someday she'd manage to kill us all." He bit his lip and met Brienne's eyes with his own, and they both had to stifle unseemly giggles as they selected a table with an unoccupied end.

The hall was smokier than usual due to the dragon's breath, but it was not as bad the further one sat from the queen. Servants brought them trenchers of the evening's fare: broiled fish cooked into a pulpy glob, caramelized onions, withered carrots and pickled pigs feet.

"As hungry as I am," Brienne said to Jaime, "you are welcome to my pickled pigs' feet."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Jaime replied, "_I_ would never describe your feet that way. Hand them over," he said, pretending to reach under the table for her booted foot.

"I promise I _will_ hit you," Brienne warned. She picked up the slab of bread from Jaime's plate and tore it into three pieces for him. Jaime could have done it himself, but really, why do it for himself when he knew Brienne would?

"Hey, you two," said Tyrion, crawling up onto the bench across from them. "How's my favorite couple today?" he asked with a wolfish grin.

Jaime and Brienne both looked at him for half a second, considering whether to address his remark. _Was this a trick question_, Jaime thought, _if I say 'fine' I acknowledge the label, if I ignore it I seem to dispute it_.

"Lord Tyrion," Brienne said, "how nice of you to join us," and thereby averted the entire question.

"I hope you're hungry," Jaime said, "it's your favorite: pickled pigs feet."

Tyrion wrinkled his nose, his scar rucking up and making it appear half a sneer. "I think not." He said and waved his arm above him, signaling for wine. "How do you like the Queen's new, um, gods, what shall we call it?" he asked, nodding toward the dragon skull.

"Rufus." Said Brienne.

"Rufus?" Tyrion and Jaime both said at once.

"I had a cat named Rufus, back on Tarth. He had that exact expression when bringing up a hairball."

"Rufus." Tyrion and Jaime confirmed.

"What message is she trying to send with Rufus, do you think?" Jaime asked Tyrion.

"'_I have dragons' _I should imagine," said Tyrion as his trencher arrived, pigs' feet steaming next to the fish. Another servant brought a flagon of red wine and three cups.

"No, thank you," Brienne told the young woman when she tried to set a cup in front of her.

"You do not partake?" asked Tyrion curiously.

"Ah, poor lady Brienne had a bit too much the other night and it set her to wobbling."

"_I do not wobble_!" huffed Brienne.

"Do not feel bad, my lady," Tyrion told her kindly, "for I wobble even when sober." He quaffed most of his cup and gestured for the server to leave the flagon. "I enjoyed watching you instruct our dear sister in the art of combat," Tyrion noted, "was she receptive to learning from you?"

Brienne did not answer right away and seemed to be searching the air for what to say. "She was…uh…yes, _receptive_." She seemed to hope the subject would drop and concentrated on her food, giving Jaime a sideways glance.

"She was rather a bitch to Brienne, I'm afraid," Jaime told Tyrion. He would have liked to repeat what Brienne had said to Cersei about being a Kingslayer's whore, if he hadn't been the Kingslayer in question. Best not to bring that up or Tyrion would run with it as fast as his little legs could carry him.

"I would have liked to have heard what went on when I was watching from the hay bales," remarked Tyrion, "from what I know of my sister I am surprised that you were not tempted to whack her over the head with a sword."

"_I _was sorely tempted," said Jaime, "and that was just from what I heard when I was standing there." He looked at Brienne, who was studiously looking away. She seemed to be examining one of the small dragon skulls on the wall that had red ribbons dripping from its mouth like blood. Daenerys really did have the worst taste, he thought.

Dropping the uncomfortable subject but promising himself to bring it up with Brienne again later, Jaime said brightly "I have an appointment with a smithy in town on the morrow. We will be working on something new for my right arm. I know how my lady Brienne hates my gold hand."

Brienne turned from her perusal of an especially gaudy tapestry depicting a dragon dining on a knight's innards. "I do not _hate_ your gold hand."

"You do not _like_ it."

"it is not my place to like or dislike it." She said quietly. "I'm sure it is quite useful, for…_something_."

Tyrion watched their exchange as though it were an especially diverting sparring match. His grin looked particularly predatory to Jaime. Suddenly Tyrion looked towards the entrance to the hall and said "Oh, look, there's Cersei!" and waved his hand to beckon her over. He watched as Jaime and Brienne's expressions became mirrors of utter dismay, eyes wide with alarm. He nearly fell off the bench, gasping with laughter. "Ho ho, we have the truth of it now," he chortled when he could breathe again, hands wrapped over his stomach as he gasped to catch his breath. "the two most feared warriors in Westeros practically wetting their britches at the threat of having to face Cersei!"

Realizing it was a joke, Jaime glared at his younger brother. Brienne leaned over the table until she was practically nose to nose with Tyrion, "Beware, little man, or I will dandle you on my knee." Jaime whooped and smacked the table with his hand. _You get him, Brienne_!

"My lady," he said to her as he dabbed at his mouth with a small cloth, "if you are finished with your meal may I escort you out?"

"Yes," said Tyrion, "go, go, before our sister does show up. I will make sure your share of the wine is not wasted."

Brienne swung her long leg over the bench and stood up next to Jaime. He reached for her hand and quickly laced their fingers together. Jaime's heart stuttered in his chest at his own boldness. _I have fought creatures out of legend, killed a king, had my heart ripped apart by the meanest woman in seven kingdoms, and _this_ makes me feel brave_?

The two warriors left the hall and Jaime led them to the stables, his guards following at a discreet distance. They found them nearly deserted but for a sleeping groom, a young man a little older than Podrick Payne had been when he was Tyrion's squire. Jaime lit a fresh torch from the small one flaming in a sconce by the entryway and they moved into the dark barn to find their horses. They heard a horse whicker from near the end of the first row of stalls and Brienne said, "That is Sean calling to me. He must have recognized my smell. Perhaps Ser Fluffy Tail will be with him." And they set off down the row.

The smell of horses, hay, and sweat combined with the warmth of the stables was soothing and familiar to them. They both seemed to relax and Jaime was glad they had come here instead of to the small hall to hear the bards that Dany kept employed at all times. When they arrived at Sean's stall the great horse leaned his head over the gate and his velvety lips strained toward Brienne. She reached out a gentle hand and stroked his nose.

"I wish I had a treat for you, Ser, but I promise I will bring you something soon." She placed her hands on his big cheekbones and laid her forehead against his, breathing in his scent, and then kissing him between the eyes. "Thank you for thinking of this, Jaime; it is just what I needed." She moved to the side of Sean's head and curled her arm under his neck so that her hand rested just behind his soft ears, then rested her cheek against his.

Jaime's own horse was begging for reunion from the next stall, and Jaime went over to stroke his nose, "There, there, Reggie, are they treating you well? Say, you don't happen to like pigs' feet, do you? No? I thought not." His horse began nosing in Jaime's tunic and he laughed and stepped back. "No fooling you, old man." And withdrew a couple of the withered carrots he had tucked into his belt at dinner. He handed one to Brienne, whose eyes glittered in the semi-dark as she took it and presented it to her horse. Jaime's horse reached his long neck out and lipped his share out of Jaime's hand.

"Brienne," Jaime asked softly, "how bad was it, working with my sister?"

Brienne considered him briefly, her eyes searching his face, perhaps trying to figure out what he wanted to hear from her. Seeming to give up any pretense she simply said, "It was awful."

"Please tell me about it."

"What is there to say, Ser? She hates me, and she wants you, and she wants me to know it. She seemed to know where the chinks in my armor were and was able to stick her dagger into each one and twist it." Brienne paused to watch his reaction to her blunt assessment.

Jaime reached for her with his right arm and drew her away from the horse, pulling her against his chest as she rested her burning face against his neck and collar bone. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair over and over, and as she wept softly against him, he whispered _shh shh shh _as though she were a frightened child.

"I am so sorry," he whispered. Jaime had long been over Cersei, but he suddenly realized now that he was forced to be near his sister again just how much she had taken from him, and how much she would still try to take. As he stood there with his true companion in his arms he felt he had been a fool not to risk letting her know how he felt. _I _am_ going to court her_, he thought, nuzzling his nose into her hair, _though I will no doubt be terrible at it_.

Brienne pulled back from him and wiped her tears on her sleeve, smiling a little sadly at him. "Do you know," she sniffed, "that back when Hyle Hunt was trying to win that bet for my maidenhood he brought me carrots for my horse?" She laughed a little shakily.

_Yes, I am already terrible at it_, thought Jaime. Hyle Hunt _had_ courted her by bringing her carrots for her horse, he remembered now. Courted her! He hoped he would not repeat any more of the hedge knight's missteps. Jaime knew that the hedge knight had traveled with Brienne for quite a while before they were brought to Lady Stoneheart. Hunt had hung around a while afterwards…

Jaime put his finger under Brienne's chin and made her look into his eyes, "Did you and he…? I mean, you told me he proposed and, I, uh, just wondered if, maybe…" Brienne was blushing now on top of the redness already in her face from crying. Her eyes were huge and perhaps as blue as he'd ever seen them.

"Are you asking if I allowed Hyle Hunt to come to my bed?" she asked.

"I know it is none of my business."

"He offered to," she told him, and Jaime could feel his jaw tightening with rage, "I told him that if he tried I would make him a eunuch." Jaime laughed. So not Hunt, then, thank the gods.

Back at the Traitor's Walk Jaime and Brienne climbed the stairs to his room. The space was small, lacking even a chair. There was only the narrow bed to sit or sleep upon and a small table with a basin of water on it.

"Thank you for taking me to see my horse," Brienne began, looking like she was going to return to her own quarters.

"Brienne," Jaime said, not releasing her hand yet, "Stay with me tonight, for I cannot sleep without you stealing my covers and telling me I snore."

"It would not be proper…" began Brienne.

"We have slept next to each other for more nights than I can count, so what is proper? Will they notice your absence from the Maidenvault and come looking for you? "

Brienne shook her head, but did not try to leave immediately. "Your bed is narrow, and your blankets scratchy."

"And my pillow is filled with thistles, I think. Would you prefer I slept with you in your bed in the Maidenvault?"

"That would be a scandal indeed!" Brienne said lightly, "and there is a crotchety old septa guarding the door. Also, do you not think your Dothraki guards would give us away as they lounged against the walls just outside?"

"So it is settled. You will sleep here tonight." Jaime gave her what he hoped was a winning smile. "Please?"


	6. Chapter 6

When Jaime asked Brienne to sleep in his bed in Traitor's Walk, Brienne knew that she would lose any argument she might make to do otherwise. She and Jaime had been sleeping apart ever since Jaime had been taken prisoner just south of Queenscrown. He had been under guard on the long road to King's Landing for his trial and Brienne had barely been allowed to speak with him as they moved ever closer to a probable execution. It had been some of the longest, most difficult weeks of her life.

"Please," Jaime said, giving her the kind of smile that she would never know how to say 'no' to. It was not in her nature to give in too easily, though, and having Jaime beg was a rare treat. His eyes were so dark that the green of them was nearly swallowed by the black, and while he was smiling there was something else in his expression that left any resistance she might have had scattering like dandelion seeds on the breeze.

"I will stay," Brienne told him, and Jaime's relieved smile pierced straight through her, "on one condition," She said.

"A condition?" Jaime asked, his smile still in place, "Name it, Wench."

"I have not thought of one yet," Brienne admitted, trying to quell her own giddiness. Honestly, wasn't she getting too old to be so taken with a simple smile? "Oh, I have it! I get to sleep next to the wall, so that if one of us falls onto the floor it will be you."

"Then we must hold each other tightly so that we both will be safe from harm." Jaime told her in a serious voice, as though they were about to embark on a dangerous adventure.

Brienne blushed a little at the picture he painted. His words seemed almost romantic, but she did not believe that Jaime was a man who believed in romance. She wondered what he might have been like before Cersei had scorned him for being maimed and accused him of being less than a man, and before he had found out that his faithfulness to her had been one-sided and misplaced. Had he given Cersei sweet words and promises he meant to keep?

Brienne feared that their days of holding each other in sleep as they went to push back the Others could be at an end with the inclusion of Cersei in their party. It was known and accepted among their fighting companions that the Kingslayer and Brienne of Tarth never slept apart, but would Jaime want them to keep separate beds when Cersei traveled with them to avoid her animosity and scorn? Brienne felt less fear now that Jaime was still in love with Cersei, but the possibility that he could be tempted back between her slender thighs made Brienne feel faint with anguish.

As Brienne prepared for bed she mused that there was something a little different about Jaime lately, especially tonight. He had deliberately pulled her against him twice, and he had held her hand like she imagined a young suitor might have done, had she not been so unpleasing to men from a young age. It still hurt deeply to recall her first betrothal to Red Ronnet Connington, how he had looked upon her with repugnance at their first meeting when she was twelve, on the cusp of womanhood and already as tall as a man. He had looked at her and cruelly rejected her with a rose. G_ods, how she still hated roses_. She had realized then that she was not a woman meant for a man to love. Ronnet had been loathsome himself, and she had been relieved not to have to marry him, but the scars he left had never really faded, even after she had been able to thoroughly trounce him in a melee she had fought in at King Renly's camp at Bitterbridge.

No sense dwelling on slights from her past, she thought. The hopeful, naïve, fanciful girl she had been had disappeared before summer had turned to autumn, and the barrenness of winter suited her. Tonight she would sleep next to Jaime, who respected and cared for her, and she intended to enjoy every heartbeat of it.

They set about the usual business of getting ready for sleep. Both removed their belts and boots, and Brienne lent Jaime a hand with taking his tunic off. Brienne had seen countless men without shirts on from the time she had joined Renly's host. Men encamped with other men had very little modesty, and the whores who seemed to attach themselves to any large camp of men had little more. Yet for all the flesh she had seen over the years the sight of Jaime with his chest bare always made her catch her breath in wonder. He may have seemed half a god at Harrenhal, but she had long since felt that no god could compare to him. Let the Warrior be jealous and the Father be proud; her Jaime, with a lion's russet hair on a chest scored with the pale scars of battles past and the angry red slashes of wounds barely healed, was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

Brienne sat down on the hard bed while Jaime busied himself hanging his belt and hers, and leaning her sword Oathkeeper against the wall near the small table. She liked to watch him when he thought himself unobserved; his quiet strength, the movement of muscles under his skin, the way his hair fell forward over his brow. She was no less a woman just because she was undesirable and scarred and ugly; she had desires and dreams like any other. What she had with Jaime was more than she could have ever hoped. Jaime was not hers the way he had been Cersei's, but it was enough.

Jaime turned from arranging their boots in the corner and saw her watching him. His eyes caught hers and held them, and the yearning went through her like Valeryian steel, swift and layered and true. She dropped her gaze and was glad she was sitting down. She might have had to admit to a wobble if she had tried to stand right then. _It was enough_, she told herself again. _It had to be_.

She deliberately broke the spell by getting back to more prosaic concerns, "If I should need to get up in the night to pee, where will I find the privy closet?"

"There isn't one," Jaime said, I've just been pissing out the tall windows in the hall."

Brienne narrowed her eyes at him. Was he kidding her? No, he seemed very serious, though not overly concerned. "Maybe I was too quick to agree to this," she told him, "though I suppose it is a good thing I've had no wine."

A lopsided smile was starting to steal over Jaime's face as he watched her struggle with her womanly dilemma. In camp she would have merely found a private place away from the eyes of the encampment to use as a privy, though often Jaime insisted on going with her so that he could stand guard for her at a distance. But in a castle, particularly in the prison tower of one, finding a private spot for a pee was not going to be possible.

"You are too easy to fool," said Jaime, "there is a privy closet five doors down. It is the smaller red door. You will need to stoop to enter, I imagine."

"I should be accustomed to the many things I must stoop to for you." Brienne said in an annoyed voice.

"You should be glad you ended up with me rather than my younger brother then, if you do not care for stooping."

Brienne grinned at that, conjuring a ridiculous image of she and Tyrion hand in hand. She really did owe the little scamp for his dirty trick of scaring them with the prospect of Cersei at dinner. He would be going to the north with them as a commander, so there would be plenty of opportunity to take revenge.

"Okay, shove over, Wench. I am sleepy and plan to snore loud enough to wake the dragons."

Brienne lay down on the bed facing the wall, trying to make as much room for Jaime to squeeze in next to her as she could. She took a few steadying breaths and thought to herself how completely ridiculous it was to be feeling nervous tonight; this would just be one of hundreds of nights cuddled up with Jaime. Surely to him the only novelty in this was that they had never slept in a jail cell together before.

Jaime sat on the bed behind her, then lay down and snugged himself up close to her, his right arm draped over her waist. He shifted around trying to get his left arm in the most comfortable position for her to rest her head on.

"Wench, could you pull the covers up some?" he said into her neck. Brienne reached her right hand out, patting along herself and Jaime and the bed until she located the thin blanket's edge. She pulled it up and tried to tuck it all around them without getting out of position. "Would you care for the pillow?" Jaime offered.

"No, I'm certain your arm is more comfortable."

"Hm. Okay," he said, his voice muffled against her. She shifted her hips some to get a little more comfortable. She heard Jaime's little intake of breath and then the familiar feel of his hard cock pressed against her bottom. "Sorry," Jaime said, sounding not sorry at all, "I'll turn over."

"Don't worry about it," Brienne said quietly, "if we turn over then I have to rest my head on the thistle pillow. Stay where you are." Jaime made a sleepy sound and snuggled closer to her, tightening his right arm over her waist. Her right arm went over his forearm and she curled her fingers over his stump and hugged it to her. There was nothing new to this position, though feeling Jaime's hard cock pressed against her was something she was more accustomed to waking up to; this rarely happened when they were drifting into an exhausted sleep after battling wights and ice spiders in the night.

"It really is your fault though," Jaime murmured sleepily, "I swear you move your hips like that on purpose sometimes."

Brienne lay awake thinking for a long while after Jaime's arousal had subsided and his breathing had deepened into the familiar rhythms of sleep. She didn't recall him ever laying the blame (_or credit_? she mused) for his arousal on her before. When they had first begun sleeping together it had been awkward and embarrassing to them both when Jaime woke up with his cock stiff against her. He would mumble something about men not being able to prevent such things happening in the morning, and he would either leave their furs quickly and set about getting ready for the day, or, if he thought she was still asleep, turn over quickly and move a little away from her. Eventually it became something they would joke about just like anything else in their friendship. She would complain that his snoring had kept her up and that now something hard was poking into her back, and had he forgotten to hang his sword up before they went to bed? He would look a little chagrinned and imply he had no control over when his cock woke up. Then they would both turn over so that their positions were switched and go back to sleep. Many times she woke before Jaime and she would not mention his state at all; it was not as though she minded. And like she had done tonight, sometimes she would shift her hips around a little, brush up against him in ways she had learned brought a reaction; whether this was to torment him or herself she was never sure.

This was just another thing that was habit with them, though sometimes Jaime would still steal out of their furs and, slinging on his sword belt, go patrol the perimeters of their camp and talk to the horses. She did not know what they discussed, but she let that remain between him and Sean and Ser Fluffy Tail.

Jaime had been without a lover for a very long time. At one time Cersei had been the only lover he had ever had; that might have changed between the time Cersei had cast him aside and when Brienne had come to him, desperate and wounded at Pennytree. It was not hard to suppose that he would have wanted to prove to himself that he was still whole and would survive all that had befallen him in such a short time. Brienne knew that Jaime was not a man made for celibacy, that even when his Kingsguard vows had demanded it he had broken them to be with Cersei. He was a passionate man in nearly every regard; the life in him drew others to serve and respect him, one-handed or no. He would not be happy with chastity forever.

Brienne was not so innocent and inexperienced that she did not know about men and their cocks. In every fighting unit she had belonged to the men seemed to talk of little else amongst themselves, obsessively discussing cocks: the relative size, hardness, shape and eventually where they wanted to stick theirs. Come to think of it they had very similar conversations about women's breasts, which also usually culminated in them discussing where they wanted to stick their…Brienne shuddered briefly, thinking of some of the less desirable men in camp, and decided to think about something else. She supposed It was a sign of the men's acceptance of her that they seldom tried to tame this talk in her presence. Of course if Ser Jaime was with her the talk immediately became more general and respectful; she wondered about this because Jaime was in no way offended by ribald japes or talk, though she had never heard him talk that way around her.

Brienne reflected that Camp life could be very raw compared to castle life. More than once in camp she had happened upon some man or another relieving himself into his hand or a soldier and a whore having a fuck when privacy was hard to be found. Brienne accepted these things as part of the life around her, the life she had chosen as a knight, even though her girlhood dreams of knighthood sometimes bore little resemblance to the reality.

Eventually she drifted off to sleep too, and despite the uncovered window and the inadequate blanket she felt warmed through and content with Jaime, _her Jaime_, she sometimes called him to herself, breathing into her hair, his heartbeat strong and reassuring against her back, his soft snores lulling her to sleep.

She awoke to a dull _thump _and sat up with a start, looking around for Oathkeeper. A string of curses came from the floor and Brienne could not even begin to stifle her giggles as Jaime's tousled hair and then then his sleepy eyes appeared along the edge of the bed. When he managed to pick himself off the floor and sit on the bed his disgruntled expression made her laugh so hard that a little _snort_ escaped her mouth and suddenly she could hardly breathe as she lay back on the bed with tears in the corners of her eyes, her belly shaking with mirth.

"Wench…" he warned, trying hard to look dignified and affronted even though the corners of his mouth were twitching as he tried to suppress a smile. Brienne held her stomach, gasping. "That's it, Wench. Off the bed with you!" Jaime announced and pinned her to the bed, trying to wrap his arms around hers so that he could wrestle her off. Even with only one hand he was still able to get a good grip on her and though she fought like a lioness he rolled her until they both fell off the bed with a _whump_, Brienne with what breath she had left knocked out of her and Jamie straddling her stomach, holding her shoulders down with his forearms.

They were nearly nose to nose as they grinned at each other, and Brienne had a fleeting fantasy that Jaime would kiss her right then, so naturally she started to twist and try to buck him off of her and they both ended up lying on their backs on the hard stone floor trying to catch their breath, looking up at the stone ceiling. One of them would start to snigger again and set the other one off until they both subsided for a span of minutes.

"Oh, Wench," Jaime said happily, reaching his hand out to lay it briefly over hers, "If I don't get off this floor right now my back will ache for a week."

"We have slept on worse," Brienne reminded him.

"But on furs, and it did not involve falling on the floor."

"I recall one of us falling on the floor drunk at least once." Brienne said.

"You did, didn't you?"

"I was not talking about me." Brienne said, "you were so out of it that I nearly had to carry you."

"Which time was that?" Jaime asked, turning his head to look at her.

"All of them." Brienne said with a smile, and Jaime took her hand and helped her back onto the bed.

"Next time we sleep in your room." Jaime said, and Brienne could only agree.


	7. Chapter 7

"Waters!" bellowed Ser Barristan, "Ector! Out here _now_!" Barristan glowered over at Cersei, limping slowly onto the field as chubby Ector Martin trotted past her enthusiastically. "While I'm still young, Waters!" Barristan called, drawing chuckles from the squires and spectators ranged around the training yard. The blowing snow seemed almost to be coming from Ser Barristan's long white hair as it streamed out on the wind. Cersei glared at Barristan and did not increase her pace. Her thighs were chafed from the armor, and her right foot ached where she had accidentally struck it with her own practice sword. Her neck ached from the strain of holding her head up and she was sure within a week her neck would be as thick as that freckled freak Beast of Tarth's was, damn her ugly hide. Barristan had adopted Brienne's idea that squires should wear their helms as often as possible to become accustomed to them, and not only were Cersei's neck and shoulders sore, but her beautiful hair was sweaty and tangled, mushed on the top into an unlovely bird's nest whenever she removed her helm. Cersei was getting even more practice at wearing her gold helm than she had to, as after practice she would wear it all the way back to her quarters in the Maidenvault so that no one would see the state of her hair before she could bathe.

Cersei finally reached the waiting knight and squire Ector, and made a show of standing with her hip jutted out, one hand propped on her waist. The effect was somewhat spoiled when she tried to give an insouciant toss of her hair and only managed to rattle her helm on her head, making her ears ring. She completely ignored the young man, who was also training for his first campaign, and looked up at Ser Barristan with all the insolence she could muster. "Glad you could make it, Waters," Ser Barristan said sarcastically in his deep, booming voice. Ector, the little whelp, was looking down at Cersei in fascination. Gods, had the kohl around her eyes started to run again? Yesterday it had smudged and spread without her knowledge and when she finally saw herself in the mirror in her room she had been unable to hold back her little scream of frustration. Her lady maid Agnes, who had just entered the room, had seemed quite frightened, if her expression was anything to go by. At least Cersei could still intimidate _someone_.

Cersei was not supposed to have a lady maid, since she was now actually lower in the social order than her maid, Agnes. But she had managed to convince Godfrey of Boane, the man who had the job of managing the keep's many women assigned to care for nobles, to send her one secretly. For this favor she had had to provide a favor of her own, and the memory of the man's hairy, sweaty body heaving above her as he took his pleasure still made her want to retch. It was far from the first time she had traded sex for a service done her, but she no longer had the advantage of hand-picking who she wanted to do her bidding. She did not regret Osmund Kettleblack, who had been generously endowed and experienced, and even Moon Boy had the advantage of at least finishing quickly. Not so Godfrey of Boane, who she had come to think of as Godfrey the Groan, who had labored for nigh on three quarters of an hour before finally giving a long, multi-syllabic grunt and collapsed on top of her, kissing her sloppily with his fetid breath until she had managed to wriggle out from under him.

Cersei's musings were interrupted by Ser Barristan thrusting an unlit torch into her hand. "Pay attention, Waters, unless you want to become a wight yourself!" he bellowed right into her face, so close that his breath warmed her nose a little. Her nose was numb with cold and she briefly considered getting him to yell at it more often; at least _he_ didn't reek of old cod.

"I would not become a wight," Cersei said with certainty, "If I fell in battle someone would torch me before that happened."

"Unless they looked forward to being able to cut you down again when you rose from the dead," Barristan told her without a pause, as though he had already considered the possibility. "Now, you are, as you can see, on torch duty in this time. As Ector battles our wight you are to attempt to light it afire."

Cersei turned resignedly to the dummy wight they had erected in the yard, a white shrouded pell with huge blue glass baubles sewn onto its head. _It looks just like my brother's pet monster with those ridiculous blue eyes_, thought Cersei, _only not as ugly_. She took up her stance and raised her unlit torch, waiting for Ector to get in position as well.

"Today we graduate to combat against a live opponent," Ser Barristan announced to cheers from the other trainees and a groan from Cersei. An armored man strolled into the yard, and raised his hand to acknowledge their applause. He was not so tall as Jaime, but a good deal taller than Cersei, and seemed to be enjoying the attention. He pretended to lurch with his arms out like an undead creature, to the delight of the men. Even Ser Barristan chuckled. "Now, Ser Avery is going to go a little easy at first and pretend to be a wight. Soon he will be gracing us with his _terrifying_ White Walker impersonation. I should warn you grubs that the first time you actually see a White Walker you may be tempted to piss your small clothes like a babe. _Don't do it_! It's cold enough out there to freeze your balls off, but frozen piss will do it all the faster."

"Except for those of us without balls," Cersei said blandly.

"Really?" said Barristan, "I've heard that you have a whole collection."

"Oh yes, and one pair of them are quite old and shriveled, if I recall," Cersei said acidly. She wished she had been more thorough about removing his when she had dismissed him from the Kingsguard on grounds of age. _Gods, could that man hold a grudge_. _You'd think I had actually chopped his balls off with an arakh or something_. Cersei never imagined that someday he would be in a position of power over her, and with the blessing of that tart, Daenerys Targaryen.

Barristan's nostrils flared in barely controlled anger. "Waters," he said coldly, "Ser Avery is going to come at you and Ector. Do you remember what to do with your torch?"

_Shove it up your arse_? thought Cersei, but wisely she just nodded her head. Ector took up his sword and shield, and Cersei stood a little behind him with her practice torch raised to the side. She had already been scolded on many occasions for holding it so close to her partner that she would most likely catch him on fire, and she didn't want _that_ lecture again. _Waters, you're supposed to _kill_ the wights, not _help_ them! Waters, if I see you almost torch a living man again I'll put _you_ out - in Blackwater Bay! Waters, you're more useless than a eunuch in a whorehouse! _Yak, yak, yak, on and on.

Ser Avery took up his stance and lurched toward Cersei and Ector. The deranged look on his face might have looked silly if at that moment a crack of thunder hadn't rumbled over the entire Keep and panicked the two fighters. Ector made a wild swing that would have hit Cersei in the head had she not darted forward with her torch and swung it as hard as she could up between Ser Avery's legs, dropping him like a raven with an arrow through its gut. The yard was suddenly silent except for Ser Avery's whimpers as he rolled on the ground with his hands clutched between his legs. Then the applause erupted and drowned out the poor man's agony. Someone thought to go to him and pull off his helm, revealing a head of thick blond hair and a handsome face. Cersei looked down at him speculatively.

Maybe…

"_You bitch_!" Ser Avery cursed up at her.

Maybe _not_.

"You've done enough damage for now, Waters." Ser Barristan said, waving her back among the others, "And may I remind you all that wights and White Walkers cannot be felled with just a blow to the balls. If that were true Waters here would be our secret weapon." Cersei limped over to the hay bales, swept away some snow and then sat down and shivered. With the earlier thunder a new storm had blown in and brought with it stinging sleet, and the lightning had begun to flash in crazy zigzags across the greenish sky. The endless thunder joined the ringing in her aching head. _Maybe they'll cancel practice on account of weather_, she thought hopefully.

"This," pronounced Ser Barristan, holding his muscular arms out wide to indicate the wild wind and blowing snow, "Is the perfect training weather! Gird your loins, lads, we need to take advantage of this and stay out here until it clears." Cersei was near tears at this news, but stopped herself from crying for fear of making a mess of her kohl again. She sat despondently on a hay bale and watched as Ser Avery made it to his feet again and readied himself with a grimace to go at the next pair of trainees. He made what seemed a very exaggerated lurch toward them. _Well, see_, thought Cersei, _I've certainly improved his lurching technique with my strike. Wouldn't Beastly Brienne be proud of how I used my hips to deliver it more powerfully_?

Cersei grew bored of watching the training quickly, and as her eyes roved over the training yard for something more interesting to see she spotted Brienne, standing out of the snow under an awning and surrounded by half a score of soldiers. She was wearing a well-cut tunic of black wool cinched in at her waist with a deep blue belt, along with soft blue leather breaches that hugged the long length of her thigh from the bottom of the tunic to the tops of her thick black boots, which ended a hand-span below her knee before draping in a fold over the top. _Her_ hair was brushed and gleaming around her shoulders, and she was laughing with the men around her. _Gods, she looks like a horse ready for the knacker man with those hideous teeth_, thought Cersei with satisfaction, _ugly enough to make a grumkin run away screaming_. The men with her seemed to hang on her every word, but no doubt that was akin to the fascination people tended to pay to gruesome things, like heads on spikes and Daenerys' attempts at decorating.

From the corner of her eye Cersei saw Jaime and his guards enter the yard from the stables, obviously returned from riding into town. Jaime carried a wrapped bundle against his side with his right arm. He looked so handsome, despite his horrible stump, which was covered now against the cold by a suede vambrace dyed a rich red. His cloak blew out behind him in the fierce wind as he strode forward, and the dark gold of his hair was caught in a cross breeze. Jaime shook his hair out of his eyes, and even from here the sparkling green of them was apparent. Cersei remembered with a tug how those eyes had used to look at her. She stood up from the hay bale, thinking he would be coming to greet her, but he seemed not to even notice her there. Instead he made his way to Brienne's side and placed his left hand at the small of her back, standing close to her so that the two of them seemed to be holding court with the other soldiers. Jaime laughed loudly at something Brienne said, and the great gargoyle of a woman put her hand on his shoulder and said something close to his ear, making him guffaw loudly. _This is all for my benefit_, Cersei told herself, _to make me jealous. Like I could be jealous of a monstrous moose like her_. Cersei realized she was still standing, waiting for Jaime to come to her, and abruptly sat down again to watch the practice and wait for her next turn at the wight. When she looked back again, Jaime had left and his creature along with him.

The storm did not calm for a long while and it was full dark and painfully cold before Cersei was able to limp back to the Maidenvault. She had decided to try to press Brienne for information about where Jaime had gone earlier in the day. At the door to the vault Cersei asked the crone on duty if Brienne was within her own chamber.

At first the woman looked taken aback at seeing Cersei dripping wet with melted snow and still in her helmet, but she was always pleased to have a bit of gossip to share.

"Oh, no, mum," said the old woman in a low, confiding voice, "the Lady Brienne did not come in last night, just sent for her clothes this morning, bold as bread." The woman glanced around and put her withered claw of a hand on Cersei's wrist, "I'm guessing it was the former queen's brother, mum, the tall good-looking one that came to ask after her yesterday. Do you know the one, mum? Green eyes, looked like he'd be good in the trenches, if you know what I mean." She winked at Cersei, who clenched her teeth against the desire to kick the frail old thing.

"My brother, you mean." Said Cersei.

"No, mum, the old queen's brother. The one used to be such a beauty?"

She does not recognize me in armor, Cersei thought. That is all. So the little slut has spent the night with Jaime? There must be some mistake. Jaime would never allow such a vile creature into his bed.

A male voice interrupted her thoughts. "Cersei?" it was Tyrion, standing behind her, grinning. She had no idea how long he had been standing there listening to the old woman's prattle.

"Brother." She said coolly, looking down her nose at him.

"This is your brother?" asked the crone, "why, he's the spittin' image of the old queen's brother he is. Heard he shot their father with a crossbow while he was taking a shit, he did. Ah, but he disappeared long ago, now, didn't he, mum?"

Cersei tried to ignore the woman as she kept mumbling about the past and took Tyrion's arm to lead him a little down the corridor, out of earshot of the old woman. She finally stopped beneath a smoky torch set in an iron sconce, between the doors to the servants' hallways and the storage rooms. Tyrion's grin had grown wider, and when they stopped he looked up at Cesei.

"Mum?" he said, and put his hand over his mouth in mock outrage. "You're at least a year away from being _her_ mum, aren't you?"

"Oh shut up, Tyrion. If you must be a turd go lie in the yard."

"Which is presumably where you've come from," said Tyrion soberly, only his eyes giving away his mirth. "Do remove your helm, sister, it must be terribly uncomfortable."

"It's fine," Cersei said through gritted teeth.

"I have heard that if you wear a helm for too long without allowing your head to breath that your hair will start to thin." Tyrion told her, "and you wouldn't want that."

Gods, that was all she needed, a bald spot atop everything else. Cersei unstrapped the helmet and pulled it off her head. Let Tyrion just _dare_ to mention what a mess her hair was. Tyrion gazed at her for a long moment, resting his finger against his mouth as he considered her. Finally, as though coming to a decision, he said "You look like a demented raccoon."

Suddenly her maid's frightened look of the day before and Ector's rude fascination with her, and even the old crone's confusion made sense: they had all seen her with the black kohl smeared all around her eyes. "Oooh!" She hissed, stamping her little foot and making fists of her hands at her sides. She stomped her feet in a perfectly childish fit, venting her frustration until Tyrion remarked mildly that she was only enhancing the resemblance to a rabid raccoon, or maybe a bothered badger.

"Why are you here, you little bastard?" She hissed.

"Ah, so I'm the bastard now, am I? Well, I was going to invite you to accompany me to dinner _after you've bathed," _he told her."I understand there are some particularly fine new decorations in the dining hall that you might enjoy. Afterwards I thought we might go to the Queen's Hall and listen to the bards. I understand there is some new song about the Maid of Tarth that you might enjoy hearing."

Cersei considered this idea. Any song about the Towering Trollop of Tarth had to be rich in satire, and finding out that the Brienne had been out all night, possibly with Jaime, made her want to witness any embarrassment headed her way. "I will come." She told him simply.

"I will meet you here in about an hour, sweet sister, after your ablutions." Cersei turned to go, "Oh, and Cersei? You might want to put your helmet back on. Don't want to frighten the help, you know."

A few moments later Cersei was relieved to be in her rooms and demanded a warm bath and a shampoo from Agnes. She stripped out of her sweaty clothes and examined herself in the mirror. No fresh bruises today, but the ones from the past several days were turning ugly shades of yellow and purple. She looked appraisingly at her breasts in the mirror; there was no support built into her armor like there was in her dresses, but they didn't seem too much the worse for wear. She peered at the thatch of hair between her legs, and decided it might be getting unruly. Her maid had promised to wax her in a special style, something called a Braavosi that was supposed to be in vogue among the fashionable courtesans of the islands. Cersei had always had servants to groom her nether regions, a little secret that even Jaime had never known about. _One must maintain some little mysteries_, she thought with a smile, thinking of her lovers and how they always said other women just couldn't compare to her. While Agnes was at it she could use some lemons to lighten Cersei's hair to its more natural color. Jaime's hair had grown dark with the lack of sun, but she was not giving in to that yet.

She stepped into her steaming bath and sunk gratefully up to her chin, letting the day's stress unravel. Agnes came to wash her hair with some new soap that felt extra luxurious, though it didn't smell as pleasant as what she was used to. _We all must make do_, she thought drowsily as Agnes combed through her hair again and again to get the tangles out before wrapping her wet hair in a thick towel to dry. _I will wear my red dress with the gold trim along the bodice_, Cersei thought, _the low cut one with the metal wires hidden under the bosom. Thank the seven they haven't taken away my dresses._

It was after she had helped Cersei from the bath but before she began to dress her and style her hair that Agnes discovered the reason the "soap" had been so lovely for getting out Cersei's tangles: she had accidentally used the bear grease that was kept to ease chilblains and chapped lips. _There is no way_, thought Agnes, _that_ _I won't be getting' a lashing when she figures that out_. _I'll just have to sleep with Godfrey the Moan and get reassigned_. She slipped out the door, taking some of Cersei's moon tea with her. She hoped the Moan would get his grunting over with a little more quickly this time around.


	8. Chapter 8

When Jaime and Brienne returned to the bed after their tussle on the floor the barest light of day was just seeping in through the tiny cell window along with a few well-aimed snowflakes and a draft that seemed cold enough to freeze a dragon's fiery breath. When they had been on encamped near Queenscrown this was about the time they would be stumbling into their furs to go to sleep after a long night of warding off the incursions of the Others, but here in the Red Keep they had the temporary luxury of sleeping in. They intended to take full advantage of the respite.

The battle happening in the north was far from Jaime's thoughts as he lay next to Brienne in the narrow bed. He had tried to convince her to take the outer side of the bed after he had fallen on the floor, but she, typically, had refused. Her condition for staying with him in Traitor's Walk had been her getting to sleep next to the wall and she would not waver. This was fine by Jaime for it gave him an excuse to hold her all the closer to keep himself from falling off again. The dim light coming through the window found them facing each other, Brienne's head tucked under Jaime's chin and her left leg hooked between both of his. It was an arduous position to be in, Jaime thought drowsily as Brienne snuggled closer, moving her muscular thigh against the ridge of his arousal in her sleep. Were he more honorable he might turn over or do sums in his head, were he less honorable he might move against her himself, just a little. Caught at the crossroads of caution and desire he kissed the top of Brienne's head and gave in to imagining a time when he could caress her awake and they could take their time learning each other even better than they already did. Jaime ached with the need to make Brienne his, but it was a sweet ache, and his resolve to court Brienne now, when they were not on a quest nor in fear of their lives had taken on the aspect of a solemn oath to himself and to her. Jaime's sleepy thoughts drifted to earlier in the night when he had wrestled Brienne off the bed for laughing at him and they had landed on the floor with him holding Brienne down, nearly nose to nose with her. Jaime had been in very real danger of lowering his mouth to hers then, the few inches between their lips seeming no barrier at all to finally kissing her when neither of them was drunk enough to deny that it had meant anything later. Jaime could have sworn he had seen the same bright spark of want reflected in Brienne's eyes, just before she had used surprise and strength to throw him off and they had ended up laughing like little kids as they lay on the floor next to each other.

Now as they lay entwined so nearly like lovers Jaime indulged in imagining what might have happened if he _had_ kissed the wench; how the kiss would have felt as her body melted against him and his tongue sought hers, his arms and hand free to roam down her back to her waist, her hips, her ass, to feel the power there in every inch of her and to feel her start to loosen at his touch. To have Brienne surrender her restraint and run her hands through his hair, over his shoulders and down his back. He wanted to feel her pulse race as he kissed her neck...

There between waking and sleep Jaime's imagination carried him on currents of longing, and when Brienne shifted her leg against him again in her sleep he realized just how painfully hard he was, and before he could count himself back down to a calmer state Brienne mumbled a little in her sleep, her breath quickening. Jaime was afraid that she might be having a nightmare, as both of them often did. Then she sighed his name in her sleep and the way she breathed it out was not a sound born of nightmare but from some passionate dream she must be having. Brienne arched her neck on the pillow and softly called out his name again, "Oh, Jaime. Jaime…" and Jaime knew he had to leave _right then_. He scrambled from the bed and headed for the door. Brienne was awakened by the sudden cold and cracked her eyes open.

"Jaime? Where are you going?"

"Need to take a piss," he told her gruffly and left for the cramped privacy of the privy closet. A while later when he quietly returned to the room Brienne was sleeping soundly on her back, taking up the whole bed. Jaime crawled in, shuffled Brienne over to one side unceremoniously and laid down with his back to her. He tried to pull his share of the scratchy blanket over him, but her grip was quite strong for someone who was asleep.

"You rotten, blanket-thieving wench," he muttered, and whipped the pillow, which she had also appropriated, out from under her head. Be bunched it up and put it under his own head. Lying there in only his trousers with a lumpy pillow and the edge of a thin blanket was still better than sleeping alone he thought as he shivered a little from the breeze coming from the window.

Then Brienne turned in toward him, yanked the blanket back over both of them and growled "Give me the pillow or you'll be back on the floor, Lannister," and swiftly snatched it out from under his head, replaced in with her arm and went back to sleep. All in all a good night, her thought, but he was looking forward to both of them sleeping in her bed in the Maidenvault that night.

They awoke a couple of hours later. It was rare that they didn't both have something they needed to get up and do right away, and cuddling under the covers when it wasn't time to sleep was not something they had ever done. Given the cramped bed it wasn't the time to start, either. Brienne was the first out of bed, crawling over Jaime to get out and head for the privy closet. While she was there Jaime strolled out and pissed out a window overlooking an unused side yard. There were an awful lot of advantages to being a man, he thought, as Brienne walked back into the room, scowling like thunder. "You said it was cramped in there, but you didn't tell me it was built for a child!" she grumped, rubbing her knee, "I find it hard to believe anyone taller than Tyrion could comfortable sit in there and do anything!"

"Tell me about it," Jaime commiserated, thinking of his visit there in the night and having a difficult time keeping his smile from giving away that his business there had not been of the usual sort. How many highborn prisoners had been driven from their beds in the night because their bed partner was a little too appealing? Not many, he guessed. Brienne narrowed her eyes at him as he tried to look innocent, but Jaime was biting his lower lip and Brienne knew when he did that he was trying to keep something from her, something he was feeling especially mischievous or pleased about.

"Okay, what?" she asked in exasperation, "is there somewhere else I might have gone and not smashed my knees against the door? Or did you pull some dirty trick like putting spider eggs that were about to hatch in there? No, wait; _you're_ the one who is afraid of spiders, so that wouldn't be it."

"I am not afraid of spiders, at least not the small kind that are not made of ice."

"You are so! You are far more frightened of regular spiders than you are of ice spiders! I've seen that little dance you do when you've found a spider crawling on you, or when you've walked right into a web." Brienne teased, "You are such a baby sometimes." Brienne picked up her boots and sat down on the bed to pull them on. "I should get back to the vault and change my clothes. I need to sit in with Tyrion and the other unit commanders today, and I had hoped to get a little sparring in before my skills get too rusty." She looked up at Jaime, who had his tunic and was trying to throw it up in the air one-handed and catch the opening on his stump. "Oh, here," Brienne fussed, catching the tunic in midair and pulling it over his head in one swift motion.

Brienne sat back down on the bed abruptly and put her head in her hands. "Oh gods, the woman who guards the door to the Maidenvault is such a gossip! How am I going to get past her without the entire Keep hearing I spent the night somewhere else?"

Jaime laughed at her discomfort, "Wench, is there _anyone_ who doesn't already know that we sleep together?"

Brienne was shaking her head. "No, no, no, no. Jaime, the woman is a shrew! Do you know what she said to me the other day?"

"Do tell," Jaime said, thoroughly enjoying Brienne's skittishness about the old woman.

"When I came back to change before dinner last night she told me that a tall, rakish, very handsome man had been there asking after me."

"Well, 'tall' lets out Tyrion anyway. So who was this man? Could it have been Loras? Men have been known to change, you know."

"Jaime! You know very well she meant you!" Brienne said.

"You think so?" Jaime said, pretending to look surprised and flattered. Brienne was starting to look miserably embarrassed. There was something more to the story, Jaime thought. "Was that all, or did she say something else that has you blushing such a lovely shade of red?"

"Don't ask me to repeat it Jaime. I'll never hear the end of it from you if I do."

"Oh, this does sound good! Did she suggest that maybe you shouldn't be hanging out with such a scoundrel?"

"Oh, I hear _that_ all the time." Brienne scoffed.

Jaime thought a moment, finger raised to his lips as he considered. "Did she ask if your chastity belt were locked up good and tight?" Jaime asked, and was delighted to see Brienne get even redder and more bashful. "Okay, I give up. What did she say? I promise I won't ever repeat it."

"She asked me if you fucked as good as you looked." Brienne whispered before putting her hands back over her face.

Jaime's laugh rang out loud and delighted, "Who would have thought the old crone had it in her? Gods, you don't think she's planning to seduce me, do you?"

"Jaime!" Brienne laughed, scandalized but finding Jaime's mirth infectious.

"Just think how she'll react when I spend the night with you there tonight," Jaime told her.

"Oh, gods!" Brienne huffed out and let herself fall back on the bed. "She would be listening at the door all night…"

"With Cersei at her side, no doubt," Jaime said drily. Brienne peaked though her fingers at him to see if he was serious.

"Too soon?" he asked with a crooked grin. Jaime was finding Brienne's discomfort endearing. He very much wanted to tease her about what the old woman had said and see how many ways she could talk around, but not get near, the subject of the two of them doing more than just sleeping together. "So, I have to know," Jaime said and lowered his voice, "_what did you tell her_?"

Brienne sat back up and looked at him somberly for a couple of minutes before telling him, "I told her that you fuck even better than you look, and that she better keep her wrinkled old hands off of you 'cause I have a sword and I'm not afraid to use it." And then she fell back on the bed laughing at Jaime's expression that she had called his bluff.

In the end Jaime convince Brienne to send a servant to go to the Maidenvault for her clothes so that she wouldn't have to face the crone yet.

"That solves the problem for right now," Jaime told her, "but we have to get past her later tonight, and I may have an idea."

A while later, after they had discussed and agreed on Jaime's plan for getting him into the Maidenvault, Brienne's clothes were brought and she made him wait outside the room while she dressed. "What is it you think I haven't seen, Wench?" He called out "Probably for the best, though, you know. If I had to be in there watching you get dressed we might not leave again for hours! You're sure I can't help?" He was safe enough to say these things from the other side of a door. Brienne would take them for a joke and he could have the fleeting pleasure of knowing that he was a very long way from joking. He was also loud enough for his guards to hear, which would help with his plans for sneaking into the Maidenvault. Having the Dothrakis believe it was a lover's tryst would only help their cause.

Not only did most people in the Keep and all of their fellow fighters in the north already know that Jaime and Brienne always slept together, but nearly everyone also assumed they were on far more intimate terms. _So much left unspoken between us while others have already decided we are lovers, _Jaime thought, _everyone sees it but us. _Brienne was the best friend Jaime had ever had or ever could have, but he wanted so much more. There had been so many times when he thought he could read the wish for more in her eyes as well, before she could hide how she felt. And then there were the other, less subtle clues like drunken kisses that one or the other of them would steal, and the even less subtle little teases Brienne had come to indulge in when they lay next to each other, the sensuous shifting of her hips sending his blood racing. For a long time he had believed it to be accidental, something that his naïve, innocent Brienne would never do on purpose, but now he was almost sure that, last night at least, was completely on purpose. And then there was her dream, and how she had said his name…best not start thinking about _that_ again.

Although, now that he _did_ think of it (and how could he not?), he still owed her for tormenting him on purpose (probably) before they first went to sleep. It might mortify her to have others suggest they were having sex, but it clearly was on her mind. Maybe it was more embarrassing to her _because_ it was on her mind?

When Brienne finally allowed him back into the cell Jaime asked "So how did you sleep last night?" He watched her settle her on sword belt on her hips, schooling his face to show only friendly concern, "Any interesting dreams?"

Brienne glanced up from buckling on Oathkeeper, looking caught out for a beat before hiding it under cover of fussing with the dark blue belt at her waist and tugging her black wool tunic into place. Much of the awkwardness in her own skin that had marked Brienne when Jaime had first met her had gradually melted into more confidence and ease, at least when she was clothed in something suited to her. Jaime thought she had never been awkward in armor, though she still acted as though any sort of dress was designed to make her look foolish, and she still managed to look like an ox trying to tiptoe through poppies when she was forced to wear one.

She hadn't answered his question about having any dreams. "I thought you might have been having a nightmare this morning," Jaime persisted, "you were breathing hard and I almost woke you up, but then you said my name…" by now he was smirking.

"Did I?" she said blandly.

"Twice."

"Huh, that does sound nightmarish," she remarked, her off-hand tone at odds with the blush creeping down her neck.

"I think the phrase you used was 'oh, Jaime,'" he said, driven to provoke more of a reaction, though he kept himself from mimicking the way she had said it in her sleep.

Brienne walked past him out the door, patting him on the shoulder as she went. "In _your_ dreams." She said and headed for the stairs knowing that he would follow.

At the bottom of the stairs they parted. Brienne to go meet with the various commanders of the new Silver army, Jaime to go into King's Landing to meet with the blacksmith about something new he was having made for his stump.

Jamie watched Brienne stride out into the courtyard and thought about another errand he might do while he was in town. He and his Dothrakis walked together to the stables, the three of them looking more like companions than a prisoner and his guards.


	9. Chapter 9

Jaime and his Dothraki _loshak_ entered the stable, its double doors thrown open to let in the daylight. Grooms were busily sweeping and carting out used horse bedding and manure and shouting bawdy insults to one another across the rows upon rows of stalls. The sound of horses nickering and occasionally squealing at each other aggressively blended with the broody _plock plock_ murmuring of the chickens underfoot. As they stepped across the threshold a large brindled dog tore past them, chased by a much smaller reddish dog that was yipping and crying as though it were the one being chased. Both dogs disappeared up a row of stalls, though the yipping continued.

The younger Dothraki, Lavakhat, hoisted Jaime's riding gear from one of the racks and accompanied him to Ser Fluffy Tail. It was not a thing normally done by a Dothraki man, to saddle another man's horse, but the Dothrakis had come to respect Jaime, knowing that he had not only survived the loss of his sword hand but had become an accomplished _sindarine qora_ fighter as well. Jaime's easy charm had earned their regard as well as their respect, and his choice of the tall, scarred warrior woman as his mate had their approval as well. Even though it was uncommon for a Dothraki woman to bring attention to herself in the Dothraki culture, much less to fight side by side with the men, something about Brienne seemed to fascinate the Dothrakis.

As Lavakhat strode on his bowed legs to Ser Fluffy Tail's stall the dozens of tiny bells in the long braid that hung to the middle of his back jingled. The bells were a symbol of all the men the Dothraki had killed, but to Jaime they sounded festive rather than formidable, something he was unlikely to share with the fierce warrior.

At the stall Jaime's horse widened his nostrils and snuffled at the Dothraki, but his ears remained trustfully forward. Jaime had always believed that horses were better judges of character than most people tended to be. He had sometimes amused himself picturing various kings he had known surrounded by an elite council of horses and dogs with a duty to sniff out corruption among the court. Jaime reflected that most of the kings he had known would be the first to be called out by the animals as unfit and untrustworthy. The horses would flatten their ears and bare their teeth, the dogs would bristle and growl, and a new king would be chosen only with their approval.

Ser Fluffy Tail nosed past Lavakhat and snorted a friendly _hurr hurr hurr_ greeting to Jaime, stretching his neck over the stall to reach him. "There's my man, Reggie!" Jaime told him, rubbing his knuckles between the horse's ears. "Ready to go into town?"

"Reegie?" Lavakhat asked in his heavy Dothraki accent, indicating the horse, "not Sor Floffy Tile?" Apparently Brienne had been talking to Jaime's guards again.

"Sor - Ser Fluffy Tail, yes." Jaime nodded. It was too much trouble to explain the two different names since he could only speak a few Dothraki words and phrases, and none at all that involved cute names for horses. Besides, the respect of his guards and his need of their aid tonight might be compromised if he had to pantomime the meaning of "fluffy," or explain that his woman had purposely told them the horse's silly name just to embarrass him. Brienne was more conversant in Dothraki than Jaime, and seemed to become more so by the day.

"Floffy, _jadat_ Floffy," Lavakhat crooned to the horse, releasing him from the stall and hooking a rope to his bridle. He tied him to a railing and began to saddle him.

Jaime took a moment to rub Sean between the ears as well. "Do you miss your girl?" he asked the horse, giving him a scritch at the curve of his cheekbone. "I promise we'll all go for a ride soon. What's that? You want me to bring you some apples sometime? And bring Brienne, too?" The Dothraki glanced at Jaime in amusement, probably thinking it would be hard for him to eat either of these horses if he had to. Jaime gave the horse a final pat and worked on strapping on his golden hand, which, despite Brienne's dislike of it, was useful for things like mounting and riding a horse.

Lavakhat handed Ser Fluffy's reins to Jaime and he swung up on the horse easily, glad to be in the saddle again. Lavakhat led the way out of the stable where Hemikh was waiting with the Dothraki mounts, which were both smaller than Jaime's horse. The Dothraki horses rippled with clean muscle and grace, and Jaime knew they were valued for their speed and stamina, both useful traits to the nomadic warriors. These were two of the horses Daenerys had brought over the sea with her, intending to breed them with the larger destriers that were more common to Westeros.

As they rode into the courtyard Jaime twisted in his saddle hoping to catch a glimpse of Brienne, but was disappointed to see only the new trainees awaiting their turn at practice with Ser Barristan on the training field. He thought he saw Cersei among them, a shorter, bustier figure, but he wasn't interested enough to stop scanning for Brienne's tall form. Not finding her he faced forward, Ser Fluffy's reins resting lightly in his left and golden hand, and followed the Dothraki out the gate.

Once he and his _loshak_ left the yards of the Keep they allowed their mounts to go at their own pace. Ser Fluffy Tail pulled into the lead, stretching his long dark legs, his white sock flashing out as he cantered down Aegon's Hill into the sprawling city of King's Landing. The stink of the city rose to meet them, and Jaime was nearly overwhelmed by the memories they evoked in him, stretching back over more than half his lifetime ago.

The brightest memory was of himself at fifteen, already an accomplished swordsman, and freshly sworn into Aerys' Kingsguard. His white cloak had been new and unsoiled, and in his pride he had felt the same of himself. It seemed like several lifetimes ago when that shining youth had ridden into King's Landing, full of promise and set upon honor and glory. How quickly had the honor of being one of Aerys' chosen seven darkened and become a hateful thing? It seemed a blink of time between the fond memories and the rueful, his ideals sullied long before he had betrayed his king and earned the name of Kingslayer. Even now, when his reasons for killing the Mad King were known, he was still considered, in King's Landing at least, a man with shit for honor. The good he had done then and since was nothing compared to the satisfaction people would continue to take in slandering a disgraced knight.

The Kingsguard had been disbanded while Jaime had been with Brienne rescuing Sansa Stark. Tommen's Hand, Mace Tyrell, had ordered the Kingsguard replaced by a larger but less elite group of knights to be known as the Kingsmen. The Kingsguard had become a sorry enough group of men by the time Brienne had found Jaime in the Riverlands, but after Ser Robert Strong had been elevated to the white cloak it was truly a farce. Jaime had felt guilty about not having been there to fight for the Kingsguard's continuance, but he knew he could have done nothing to stop its disbanding. Restoring the Kingsguard to its former glory had become just another tarnished vow that Jaime had been unable to keep. Seen in a more positive light, the demise of the Kingsguard and its vows had freed Jaime up to join the battle against the Others in the north and to stay at Brienne's side. He had never had a taste for politics and being a part of the effort to protect the realm suited him.

The three men rode along the easternmost road through King's Landing, headed past the Fishmonger's Square to the Street of Steel, where Tobho Mott's armory held the place of honor at the top of the street. They would be closer to the Great Sept of Baelor than Jaime would have liked. It seemed to him that the nearer he got to the sept the more the memory of his father's decaying body assaulted his senses. The remembered smell of his lord father's rotting flesh and the inescapable mental image of his smirking corpse always brought him back to those dark days. Lord Tywin Lannister had been gone for years and the Tower of the Hand with him, but even in death he cast his long shadow over Keep and city.

The day was cold and snow flurries eddied around them like gnats. Soot and waste had blackened the snow on the sides of the road, and the smallfolk in the street cringed back from the foreign strangeness of the mounted Dothrakis. It felt good to Jaime to be out on his horse with the wind whipping in his hair and making his cloak billow out over Ser Fluffy's back. He drew in a deep breath, and even though it had the stink of King's Landing in it, the way the cold air filled his lungs was satisfying. Today felt much like freedom to him despite the tunic with the silver dragon and his guards. Ser Fluffy Tail strutted like the knight he was, neck arched and black mane and tail flying in the wind. All the day lacked was Brienne and Sean by their side.

"The Street of Steel is just up ahead here," he called back to his guards, "up at the top is Mott's forge." Jaime slowed his horse and navigated up the row of blacksmiths. Mott's armory was at the very top and loomed out over the other shops like a mounted lord observing peasants; benign but obviously better than the others. Jaime had done a lot of business with Tobho Mott over the years, purchasing armor and weapons and even drinking a cup of ale with the man from time to time. Mott was the best smith in King's Landing if you had the coin to pay. Jaime may have been stripped of his lands, but his fortune was too varied and his connections to wide to make him poor, so he was able to continue to patronize the finest merchants.

Mott had made Jaime's gold hand, and designed the complicated series of straps and buckles that held it on and made it useful for more than decoration, as well as making them easy enough to fasten using only his left hand. The hand had to be a part of Jaime in a way that allowed him to use the remaining strength in his right arm to obey his commands, whether using it for leverage, balance or for knocking out teeth. Lacking fingers and a thumb anything he wore on his stump would not give him dexterity, but Jaime had begun to think maybe he still might have some use for his right arm even without the hand.

As they entered the yard to Tobho Mott's place they could see him working at his forge. Mott had about ten years on Jaime, but looked even older at first with his greying ginger beard and the soot of his trade sunk into the lines on his face, though no one could ever take him for frail or old with his muscles bulging from years at the forge. Even in the cold he wore no more than leather trews and apron, and his thatch of faded red hair stood up in the rising heat from the forge like a little flame. Tobho looked up and saw Jaime and the Dothrakis and called out a welcome, settling the sword he had been working on in a barrel of water to cool. Jaime swung off his horse and the two embraced. The blacksmith held Jaime by the shoulders at arm's length, looking him up and down. A wide grin split his craggy face. "Ah, boy-o, look at you! I never thought to see that pretty head of yours again!"

"As you see, it is right where it was last time." Jaime told him, returning the smile, "I was afraid I was going to have to pay you for a golden head to go with the hand."

"Aye, I thought that too," said Mott, "but with your swelled head can you imagine what I would have had to charge!" They both laughed.

"Mott, I'd like you to meet my Dothraki _loshak_, they guard me day and night to keep me from running back to fight in the north before my time." Jaime gestured to the men behind him, who were just dismounting. Hemikh came forward first and he and Mott clasped forearms. Hemikh was of an age with Mott, and their shoulders and arms were similarly muscled. Unlike Lavakhat, Hemikh's braid only hung to his shoulder blades and had far fewer bells. Someone must have taken his braid in a fight a few years ago; it could be why the proud warrior was assigned as Jaime's guard, though he didn't seem to mind. Lavakhat came forward as well, clasping Mott's forearm in turn and holding the reins of the three horses in his other hand.

"Stable's around the side there," Mott told him, waving toward a tall building, "You can give them to young Toby and he'll see they're taken care of."

Lavakhat took the horses and Jaime turned back to Mott. "Do you remember you asked what kind of weapon took my hand off?" he asked the smith.

"I do, it was some Dothraki piece of steel, wasn't it?" Mott raised his bushy eyebrows at Jaime and then flicked his eyes to Hemikh.

"An arakh, yes." Jaime said, "Hemikh, would you show yours to my friend here?" Hemikh drew the curved sword and held it hilt-out to Mott, who made a low whistle as he took it and held it up to look it over.

"Not elegant, no," he pronounced, "and not a blade I would think of for chopping." He saw Jaime wince and muttered "Sorry," around a grim smile. "Still, I can see how this would be very useful from horseback. The curve of the blade would give it some extra momentum to deepen the cut. More of a slicing weapon than a hacking one, I think." Mott held the arakh up, gesturing toward the little lawn just in front of the shop and asked the Dothraki, "Do you mind?"

At Hemikh's nod he stepped out holding the blade and swung it in a combination of moves, _head, head, side slash down the torso, hip_, _head_, stepping light on his feet as though he battled an imaginary foe. "Yes," he said, "yes, I see." He handed the blade back to Hemikh, nodding in approval. Lavakhat had returned to see his dance as well, and seemed amused at this Westerosi man wielding the arakh. Tobho Mott had spent some time in Braavos training with a master there and studying their armorers. Handling weapons was part of his trade and he was good at it. He was also the man who had re-forged Ned Stark's Valyrian sword Ice into two smaller swords; one of those was Brienne's blade, Oathkeeper. Men who could re-forge Valyrian steel were even more rare than the blades themselves.

Jaime had watched the display with the arakh as though it did not bother him at all. He was pleased that no one could detect how he quailed inside to see that blade sweeping down, and he felt the phantom fingers of his missing right hand clench in agony. He hoped he would not suffer nightmares in the night because of today's display. Overcoming your fear was important, he felt, but his bravado in purposely calling attention to the weapon that had maimed him left him feeling a little foolish.

The Dothraki were gazing curiously around the forge, and Mott gestured to the armor and weapons arrayed on and hanging from every surface, "Go ahead, look around." He told them, and they both looked as though they were young boys set free in a toymaker's shop. It didn't take long for them to find Mott's Wall of Daggers and they fell to exclaiming over them to each other in the Dothraki tongue.

While the men were busy Jaime asked Mott, "You got the drawings I sent? Were you able to decipher them?"

"Aye, but it took some doing. They looked like something my six year old would draw, so finally I asked _him_ to explain them to me." Mott gave a great guffaw at that, but it was only the truth. He found the crumpled parchments on a table and smoothed them out so that he and Jaime could discuss them. While they were discussing the drawings Tobho's wife came across the yard holding a baby in one arm and brushing chicken feed off her apron with the other.

"Moira!" Mott called out to her, waving her over. "You've not met my youngest yet, Ser." He said to Jaime, "A daughter, at last!"

Moira gave Jaime a shy, proud smile as she stopped to stand in front of Jaime and her husband. Jaime knew the couple had a veritable herd of boys, so he was happy to know they had gotten the hoped-for girl.

"Here," Moira said, placing the baby in Jaime's arms before her could stop her. "There now, Merry, see the handsome knight?" The babe fussed a moment in Jaime's arms and then settled and stared up at him with her round blue eyes. Moira took Jaime's right arm and positioned his gold hand to support the baby a little better. Jaime had never held a baby before and was surprised at the feel of it; he had assumed it would be as soft, yet it was more solid-feeling, and the movement of the thing as it shifted itself within its little blanket and then lifted its little arms up at him was unexpected. He thought briefly of his own children and how he had never been allowed to hold any of them; he had thought the familiar ache of it was long behind him, but the loss was still with him. He gave it his left forefinger to hold and was given a tiny, toothless smile in return. He looked at the chubby little fist holding onto his finger, surprised by the strength of its grasp. He tried to pull his hand away so that he could move his left hand to support the baby a little better, but the thing was having none of it.

"Och, did I not tell you the girl would have the men wrapped around her little finger?" said Mott proudly, "What do you think of our bonny Merry Pie, Ser Jaime?"

"It's, um, it's really cute." Jaime said, clearly out of his depth.

"_She_ is really cute," corrected the child's mother, deftly unwinding the girl's tiny fist from Jaime's finger and positioning his hand to better support Merry's back. "Here now," she cooed, "Hold her closer to you. She don't bite." Moira gently pushed Jaime's arms with the baby closer to his chest. _Are all babies this warm?_ Merry reached out again, and not finding a finger she closed her hand around a lock of Jaime's hair and pulled on it. There was nothing for it but to do what the child wanted and let her pull his head down. Moira and Mott laughed to see the great Kingslayer being so easily controlled. He tried to look up through his hair at the proud parents as Merry reached out and grabbed his beard with her other hand.

"There now," laughed the blacksmith, "she likes you I think."

"Mm" said Jaime, and shifted the girl higher onto his chest so he could lift his head while she held onto his hair.

"I hear you have some giantess of woman who fights beside you and shares your bed," Mott winked at Jaime, "when are yougoing to marry her and get yourself some brats to have around underfoot?"

"Maybe someday," Jaime said lightly, "if she'll have me."

"From what _I_ hear, she's already had you," said Mott with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

"Toby!" chided Moira, smacking him on his arm, but smiling up at Jaime.

"Now that there's no Kingsguard…" began Mott.

"I swear you're worse than a fishwife," said Moira, relieving Jaime of the baby. "Let the poor man alone. You're making him blush." She cuddled Merry to her chest and with a dip of her head left them to return to the warmth of the house.

Jaime could feel himself blushing a little, something he wasn't accustomed to. Thankfully Mott dropped the subject and they went back to the drawings. The blacksmith took more measurements of Jaime's right arm and noted them on fresh parchment, along with drawing more sketches as he and Jaime talked.

"I'll do what I can before you have to leave for the north," he told Jaime, "but they might not be as pretty as you're used to."

Jaime laughed. "My vanity isn't what it once was, Toby," he said, "whatever you can do is appreciated."

"I do have something for you though," Mott said, as he rolled up the parchment. He stepped into an alcove of the shop and brought out an oblong object wrapped in coarse cloth. He handed it to Jaime and stepped back with hands on hips, "Open it!" he told Jaime impatiently.

Jaime rested the gift in his metal hand while he unwound the cloth with his left, a low whistle escaping his lips. "Is this…?" He looked up at Mott with an almost feral grin, his eyes alight. Mott was nodding, pleased with Jaime's reaction. In his hands he held a short sword with an iron cap to fit over his stump and a clever series of straps to attach it to his arm and over his shoulder. Mott reached out and lifted it from Jaime's hands.

"Take off your hand and we'll see how it fits." He said, grinning so widely that his own eyes were almost hidden in the sooty wrinkles around them.

Jaime's heart was thundering in his ribs, and he could barely get the hand off for his excitement to try on the new weapon. Mott handed Jaime the sword and he rested its point on the ground, placing his booted feet on either side of it to hold it in place. He placed his stump in the padded cap and looped the longer of the leather straps over his shoulder and secured the series of small buckles along his arm, Mott commenting along the way about the best way to strap things, but not stepping in to help; he knew that Jaime needed to be able to do this for himself.

When he was done Jaime stepped back and raised the blade, admiring it. He rotated his forearm and wrist side to side enjoying the feel of it, the balance, the promise of power. Then he saw something else in the blade and stopped to look at it. "is that Dragonglass?" he asked, looking up at Mott in astonishment. There imbedded in the blade was a darker, shinier object in the same shape as the sword it graced.

"Aye," said Mott, if possible looking even more pleased. Jaime stepped back several paces and began to swing the blade, picking up momentum as he went. Faster and stronger the strokes flew, cutting swaths through the blowing snow, the blade seeming to sing as it rent the cold air. The Dothrakis were drawn by the movement and stood at the mouth of the shop watching Ser Jaime, who even to them looked like a hero out of legend.

_Just wait until I show Brienne_, thought Jaime, and just then he wished more than anything that she were there to see and celebrate this new discovery with him. _She may not like my golden hand_, he mused, _but she's going to love this_.

While Jaime and Mott had been discussing plans and trying out the new short sword the snow had become thicker and the wind more persistent. Jaime re-wrapped his new weapon and strapped his hand back on. Lavakhat purchased long dagger and Hemikh a bronzed vambrace from Mott.

"Did you get the other packet I sent?" Jaime asked Mott when they were all but ready to go.

"The gemstones and your wretched drawing? I did. I sent them on to Bakon the Silversmith for you; he's the best in King's Landing. Says he'll make sure you have what you need before you march."

Jaime thanked his friend and he and his guards mounted their horses and rode back down the Street of Steel in the gathering storm. The torches started to light up here and there as merchants set up for a few more hours' trade. Jaime let the way to the Street of Bread, where he had planned to purchase some food that was neither pigs' feet or fish. While he was there he was also able to buy some carrots for the horses that were only a little withered. As he was paying for his parcels he noticed a few roses in a cup by the proprietor's bench. Jaime had heard that the few hothouses that might have grown flowers in the city had been given over to growing foodstuff for the winter. He curiously picked a rose out of the cup and saw that it was not a real rose at all. He turned it curiously in his fingers and saw that it was finely sculpted to look like a budding rose out of very soft leather dyed a rich red with a long green stem. He bought it for Brienne and tucked it away with his other goods. He was betting that Hyle had never given her a rose.

With his business in King's Landing concluded they all rode as quickly as they could back to the Red Keep. They were on Aegon's Hill when a lightning bolt shattered the sky and the thunder that cracked with it sent the three startled horses skittering on the slippery snow before they regained their footing and raced for the stables, where grooms were waiting to take the horses inside. Jaime hesitated, feeling guilty for not seeing Ser Fluffy Tail settled in, but he had spotted Brienne standing under an awning out of the snow, talking and laughing with about ten men out near the training grounds. He quickly took off his golden hand and put the suede vambrace Brienne had given him about a year ago over his stump before going out to join her.

Feeling foolishly possessive he strode out into the storm with his guards behind him, walking directly to Brienne and taking his place by her side. He put his hand on her lower back and was glad she didn't stiffen or jump in surprise. Brienne turned to give him a smile and he could see bright humor in her eyes. "Your sister just hit poor Ser Ector so hard in the bollocks with a torch that he was on the ground whimpering for five full minutes," she told him. _How very like Cersei_, he thought, and laughed out loud. Brienne put her hand on his shoulder and said into his ear "I think I know where she got the nickname 'ballbuster' from now," and Jaime laughed even harder. Jaime looked over the men that had been standing with Brienne when he arrived, and moved his hand from her back to her hand, claiming it.

"My lords," he nodded to the men and gave them a cutting smile, more dismissive than friendly. It did not pass unnoticed that all of them were closer in age to Brienne than to him. "I should get my lady in out of this storm." And before Brienne knew it he was pulling her by the hand toward Traitor's Walk, the guards following slowly behind, barely even paying attention to them.

"Jaime," she said, tugging back on his hand until he stopped walking, "You know we've _fought_ in far worse conditions than this. Since when do I need to be rescued from a storm?"

"Actually, I was rescuing me. _Brrr_." He grinned at her. "And I need you to come help me shave for tonight. I could do it, but you leave fewer nicks."

"You are so lazy!" she said, trying to look annoyed but failing miserably. "What's in the packages?"

"None of your business," he told her, "for now, anyway. I'll show you later."


	10. Chapter 10

Upon entering Traitor's Walk Jaime and Brienne saw there was an old tapestry on the floor just inside the entrance of the tower. The tapestry had been painstakingly folded so that Robert Baratheon's woven face was right where one had to step on it upon entering the tower. From what could be seen of the scene King Robert was heroically posed, sword held aloft, among a storm-tossed fleet of ships against a darkened sky with flames rising from a seaside castle behind him. It was obvious the tapestry had been set there as a place to wipe one's boots upon entering the tower, and Robert's face was smeared with wet mud and what appeared to be bits of horse manure tracked in from the stables.

"I see Daenerys has been going through the storerooms," Jaime remarked, stopping to look at the tapestry.

"Is that King Robert?" asked Brienne, "He was quite handsome, wasn't he?"

"Yes," Jaime said, not trying to hide his annoyance, "That is Robert, and if I'm not mistaken this depicts the Greyjoy Rebellion. Though Robert wasn't in this battle. It was Stannis that was Master of Ships. And no, I don't find him handsome."

"Too bad this doesn't show Stannis; then we could wipe our boots on _his_ face." Brienne remarked.

"Robert will do just fine." Jaime said shortly, stamping his boots on the tapestry to remove the snow and muck from the stables. Brienne followed suit, amused by the childish satisfaction Jaime took in tromping on his sister's late husband. Was he still jealous? Whether he was or not there were no lack of reasons for him to hate King Robert. Brienne hoped there was a Stannis tapestry laid out somewhere with a lot of foot traffic.

They climbed the steps to Jaime's quarters and stepped inside. Brienne hung both of their cloaks. While she unstrapped Oathkeeper and leaned it against the wall Jaime set his packages down on the floor near his saddle bags and then sat on the bed. Brienne tried not to stare as Jamie leaned back on his elbows, his feet still on the floor. His scruffy chin was resting on his chest and he was looking up at her through his windblown hair. If she didn't know better she would have described the way he was looking at her as seductive, but she assumed he was probably just sleepy.

Jaime and that bed had figured prominently in Brienne's imagination all day as she had sat in the small council chambers with Queen Daenerys, Mormont, Tyrion, Ser Loras and about a dozen other men gathered to discuss how best to push back the Others when the latest wave of Silvers went north. She hoped her inattention hadn't been too evident to everyone present. Given her reputation as a stumble tongue any hesitation upon speaking when asked for her opinion was probably expected. She knew she should be a more active participant in the discussions, but she found the meetings mostly revolved around men trying to impress Queen Daenerys with their battle experience. Given the very scant and shear tunic the queen had been wearing Brienne was not surprised by the men competing for attention. She and Ser Loras had sat next to each other and exchanged amused expressions when no one was paying them any attention. Despite their history, Brienne was coming to quite like Loras Tyrell. With his effeminate side balancing out her lack of traditional femininity they had begun to enjoy insulting each other while laughing at everyone else. Loras was much droller than she could have imagined, with an expressive eye roll that put Tyrion's to shame.

Tyrion himself did not involve himself in the cock fight that seemed to be going on among the men in the room; from his place at Daenerys side he cultivated an uncharacteristically sober expression. Brienne did catch him once covering his mouth to stifle a laugh as Jorah Mormont reached across the table for a flagon of wine that had him practically in Dany's bosom, despite the presence of a full flagon nearly at his elbow. The queen either didn't notice or was used to his fumbling attempts to rub up against her.

The council chamber had been quite warm with a few braziers fully stoked, no doubt in deference to the queen's brief attire. Everyone else was flushed and panting, so Brienne's occasional blush when her imagination got the better of her went unnoticed. The night before had given her plenty of fodder for distracting thoughts and daydreams about Jaime.

Even here in Jaime's room she wasn't able to stop musing on it. He had _almost_ kissed her. Or had that been her imagination as well? But he _had_ (sort of) accused her of causing his arousal, how was she to stop thinking about that? Which of them had been bolder: her for causing it or him for remarking on it? Brienne decided, at least while she was letting herself indulge in speculation, that his remarking on it meant… well, what the seven hells _did_ it mean?

"What are you thinking so deeply about, Wench?" Jaime's voice intruded on her thoughts. If she hadn't already been blushing she surely would be now. He was watching her with an amused grin on his face. She wondered how long she had been standing there staring at the wall.

"Oh, just the council today." She told him. "Ser Loras and I sat next to one another."

"Oh? How did that go? I know he isn't your favorite person."

"I am coming to believe he's not so bad," Brienne said with a smile, remembering a particularly funny incident when Ser Clive had called Jorah Mormont a squirrel in heat. Brienne chuckled briefly remembering how Loras had whispered in her ear that Mormont should have buried his nuts in the snow before coming to council.

Jaime didn't look amused. Maybe he was just impatient for Brienne to shave him so they could get on with their plans for the evening.

"Where is your shaving knife?" Brienne asked.

"In my brown bag, the one with the lion clasp," he told her.

"The lion with the ruby eyes or the one that's yawning?" She asked.

"For the last time: it's _roaring_. Lions don't yawn. But it's the one with the red eyes."

Brienne retrieved the knife from his bag and walked over to Jaime. "It's funny how they let you keep this but won't let you carry a sword." She remarked, "You'll have to move over. I need to be next to the water."

"Where do you want me?" he asked her with a smirk.

Brienne gave him a little smile, hoping she looked mysterious. Gods, what if he could guess what she was thinking. But no, how could he? "Sit facing me," she told him, settling herself on the bed cross legged. Jaime mirrored her, sitting so that their knees were touching. He leaned toward Brienne with his forearms resting on his thighs. She wet the lump of soap next to the basin and rubbed it between her hands before covering the lower half of his face and part of his neck with the lather. She took up the blade and looked critically at it. Jaime winced as she plucked a hair from his head and slid it across the blade, slicing it lengthwise. She raised an eyebrow at him and said in a low voice "Don't move," Jaime smiled, and Brienne tried to look serious, "And don't smile either, it makes your face crinkle up. I don't want to nick you." She positioned the knife and Jaime closed his eyes and tried to keep his face expressionless.

Brienne put her left hand at the back of his neck, with her thumb resting at the edge of his jaw. She brought the knife smoothly up his cheek, scraping against the stubble. Brienne was confident with a knife in her hand, and she took her time over the job, slowly caressing Jaime's face with razor sharp steel. Jaime's breathing was deep and measured as Brienne used her hand to raise his chin, tilt his head, and stroke his cheek with her thumb to pull it smooth for the knife. She knew he trusted her utterly and having him so relaxed under her ministrations was lulling her as well until they were breathing almost as one; Brienne hated to break the spell when she was finished shaving him. She rinsed the knife one more time and set it on the table and then placed a hand on either side of Jaime's face to check for stubble. Jaime opened his eyes at her touch and looked at her. Brienne felt her heart stutter in her chest and tried not to breathe in too quickly. She froze under Jaime's intensity, not sure how to retreat. _Just sit back, Brienne_, she thought to herself, and in that heartbeat of hesitation Jaime brought his hand up and gently guided her head down until their lips met. It was a brief kiss, and as both of them pulled away Jaime slid his hand from her hair, twirling a strand around his finger as he went.

"Thank you," Jaime said softly, whether for the kiss or the shave Brienne wasn't sure. She sat back and gave him a shy half smile before dropping her eyes, rubbing her hands on her knees as though to dry the soap from them. Jaime straightened his back, and when Brienne risked another look at him through her eyelashes he was still watching her. She chewed her bottom lip, unsure of what to do next. She wished they were sparring with swords so that they could be on equal footing; she would instinctively know what her next move should be. She never doubted his intentions when they met sword to sword, and while she might not always know what his next move would be she could be sure that her fighting instincts would allow her to parry or attack as needed.

Jaime had her kept off-balance a lot in these last few days. The normal rules between them seemed to have changed since his they had come to the Red Keep for his trial. Aside from the hand-holding, embraces, and the intensity of his eyes as he looked at her, even his teasing about them being lovers seemed to have taken on a different tone. Now there was this kiss, a kiss that could not be denied. Oh, it could be said to be a "thank you" kiss for shaving him, but it had felt like something more. It wasn't their first kiss, but those other kisses didn't count. Kisses and confessions when they were in their cups were never acknowledged when they were sober; it was one of many unspoken rules they navigated by in their friendship.

Finally Brienne said, so quietly it was practically inaudible, "You're welcome, Jaime." She did not look at him as she said it, and was not sure whether she wished for her words to end this impasse or for him to parry somehow. She could feel his eyes still upon her, so she finally rallied her courage and looked at his face. He reached out and clasped one of the hands she had resting in her lap, brought it up to his lips and kissed her knuckles tenderly.

"Forgive me, Wench, for making you uneasy." he lowered their hands onto his knee.

"I am not 'uneasy,'" she said quickly, and at Jaime's raised eyebrow she said "Okay, not _very_ 'uneasy.'"

"Not _very_."

"Jaime! Okay, you startled me a _little_. What brought that on?" She waved her other hand vaguely, trying to indicate the kiss.

Jaime looked down at their hands on his knee, his thumb brushing along hers softly. "I found myself thinking about you and missing you all day, Brienne." He admitted, "Besides, I owed you for throwing me off when I was about to kiss you last night."

"You owed me for throwing you off?" She asked skeptically. "That's new. I suppose when I knock you into the dust during sparring I should now expect you to, um… " Brienne stumbled to a stop, unable to think of an equivalent action that didn't sound blatantly carnal. Jaime laughed at her horrified expression as she covered her mouth with her hand, wishing she could take back her retort.

"Talked yourself right up against the wall there, didn't you, Wench? Let me finish the thought," he said with a cat-like grin, "You knock me into the dust and you can expect me to _ravish_ you? To take you right there in the yard?"

Brienne actually giggled at the thought, "Think of the racket we'd make in full armor!"

"Maybe we should stick with mail or boiled leather when we spar from now on." He added, his grin becoming more predatory.

"And what if, unlikely as it sounds, you were the one to beat _me_ into the ground?" Brienne asked, her eyes glowing at this new game. It was bawdier than their usual verbal sparring, but she found herself warming to it easily.

"Hm," Jaime said, seeming to consider her question. "If I were to overcome you… " he paused to contemplate it, a secretive smile playing about his mouth.

"I'm _waiting_," Brienne told him after a moment.

"Oh, sorry," Jaime told her, pretending to shake himself. "My imagination got the better of me." He leaned back quickly as she reached out with her free hand to smack him on top of the head. Brienne's arms were more than long enough to get a good whack in. He responded by pulling her knuckles to his lips again and giving them a loud, sloppy kiss. Brienne narrowed her eyes at this new thing, wondering if she would be tempted to hit him more, or less, in the future, and trying to decide if they were to end up on the floor again if he would just go ahead and kiss her or if she would have to buck him off first. She chuckled at the thought, earning her a quizzical look from Jaime.

In her heart she knew it all meant nothing. Still, she was unable to quell the little frisson inside at the thought of Jaime actually wanting to kiss her, the idea that maybe he really had thought about her all day even as she had been preoccupied with thoughts of him.

Jamie released her hand to rub his own over his smooth cheeks and chin. "Will I pass, do you think?" he asked Brienne.

"No, but it's our best chance. I'm more worried about tomorrow morning."

"I think it will work." Jaime said confidently, "I'm really looking forward to stealing your pillow tonight."

"You can _try_. We had better get going to dinner. I promised Loras we would go to the Queen's Ballroom afterward to hear some bard that is singing there tonight."

"Do we have to?" Jaime asked with a frown. "If I have to hear 'Dany's Divine Dragons' or 'The Ballad of Barristan' again I might be sick."

"At least it is unlikely we'll hear the 'Rains of Castamere' or 'Brawny Baratheon's Bollocks' in there, although 'Queen Cersei's Strumpet Stomp' is enjoying a comeback." Brienne replied, unfolding her legs to get off the bed.

Jaime groaned. "You have to promise me that if they start to play 'Ode to Aerys' we can leave."

"Agreed." Brienne told him, "But if they play 'the Wight's Whirl' you must promise you will dance it with me."

"Is that even a song?" Jaime was appalled.

"No, but it would be a good one, don't you think?" Brienne widened her eyes at him and briefly pantomimed a wight shuffling in a circle.

"Incorrigible Wench." Jaime said, getting off the bed himself. "By the way, there is a lady maid coming by to smuggle some of my things into the Maidenvault tonight," Jaime told her. "I was able to bribe the man in charge of the serving women, some upjumped manservant name of Godfrey with breath that stinks like the tidelands. He assured me he could assign you a lady maid we could trust. I hope you weren't too attached to the one you had?"

"I didn't have anyone especially assigned to me," Brienne said, "You know I prefer not to be bothered with having servants around."

"A woman of your station should have someone to look after her." he was rummaging through his saddle bags for clothing to be taken to the Maidenvault. "Do you think your boots would fit me?" he asked. Brienne frowned and stood next to Jaime, aligning her foot with his. They appeared to be the same size. _Could I not be dainty in _any_ way_? She thought with resignation. "Good, that will help." Jaime said.

He took some of the wrapped packages from his visit to town and set them on the bed along with his smallest saddle bag. "You took care of what we need for me to get back out in the morning?"

"I did, yes. This seems like a lot of work just to sleep in a bigger bed."

"Do you want to sleep here again tonight?" Jaime asked, "If so, I get the side next to the wall. I do have to warn you that I saw old Lord Branson heading for the privy closet with a thick scroll to read not long ago. I'm not sure he's come out yet, but I expect it will be reasonably aired out by morning. That is, unless he eats the pickled pigs' feet at dinner tonight."

"Or we could each sleep in our own beds." Brienne said.

"You wound me, My Lady," Jaime said, "After I tried so hard to keep you warm last night?"

"Stealing the covers was keeping me warm?" Brienne asked incredulously.

Jamie did not deign to answer. They both knew that it was always Brienne who took the lion's share of the covers if she could.

Brienne strapped on Oathkeeper and took their cloaks off of the peg she had hung them on. Both cloaks were damp from the storm blowing outside, but the warmth of the dining hall would help to dry them. She handed Jaime his Lannister red cloak and settled her own midnight blue cloak over her shoulders and fastened it with a crescent moon clasp.

Brienne opened the door and held her hand out to Jaime, who took it in his and gave her the kind of smile that made her knees weak. Holding hands and being kissed by Jaime Lannister was something she saw no reason not to enjoy thoroughly, as long as she remembered to guard her heart against the hope of something more.

Brienne had worked hard from a young age not to be vulnerable to anyone. She had been taught at her Septa's knee that her physical appearance and lack of grace made her unworthy of love or acceptance, but it wasn't until she was in Renly's camp and subjected to the humiliation of being courted as a joke that she learned how poorly she had defended her heart; it was a lesson she would never forget. She couldn't change how sensitive her nature was, but she had learned to protect herself from false hope.

They walked back down the stairs and stopped to talk to Lavakhat and Hemikh. Brienne greeted them in Dothraki and they began a halting conversation with much laughter at Brienne's occasional difficulty in pronunciation or finding the right words. Brienne for her part took their kidding in stride. The Dothraki were an honest people, and she sensed their approval of her. It didn't hurt that they towered over her and had a weakness for bad jokes made worse by the language barrier.

The four of them started toward the tower doors together. The tapestry of the Greyjoy Rebellion was still in place though Robert Baratheon was unrecognizable under the muck and mud that now covered him. Outside, the storm was still raging with thick heavy snowflakes and strong winds, though the lightning had moved north. It was difficult to see across the courtyard in the blowing snow, and Brienne felt sorry for the Dothrakis. She would have to remember to ask them why they wouldn't dress for the weather. As hardy as they were she knew the biting cold had to be affecting them. She doubted they had even known what gooseflesh was until they had followed their Khaleesi across the sea.

As they entered the building that housed the dining hall they were all relieved by the warmth inside. Daenerys did not skimp on using wood to warm the Keep. If winter continued as long as the maesters were predicting she would run out of trees to fell and eventually have to don warmer garb. Brienne imagined she would set her dragons to work blowing fire through the vents to prevent such a harsh measure.

Once inside the dining hall Lavakhat and Hemikh went to join a rowdy table of Dothrakis near the queen's table. Rufus the dragon skull was still hanging in his place of honor, though apparently someone has warned Daenerys about the dangers of smoking dragons so he now longer had a brazier's chimney run up to his mouth. He did have two new glowing red candles cleverly set right behind his eyeholes.

Jaime and Brienne looked toward the other side of the hall for someplace else to settle. Ser Loras was sitting at a table beneath what looked to be a small tapestry with a bulge in the middle of it. When Loras spotted them he waved them over enthusiastically. Jamie didn't budge so Brienne tried to pull him toward the table. He set his feet and glared at her.

"Do you see what he's sitting under?" Jaime asked her.

"Some new tapestry, I think. How bad can it be?"

"I'll show you." He grumbled, finally letting her tow him over to the table. Before they could greet Loras Brienne's mouth dropped open and she found herself staring speechless at the wall. The tapestry was small as such things went, but it definitely drew one's attention. It depicted in vivid detail their new queen, face covered in blood, chewing her way through a large heart. The heart and Daenerys' hands appeared to be jutting out of the scene as they had been sculpted from some leathery material and then stuffed. The heart itself gleamed as though it was fresh, and the blood trails were raised thanks to some stitched cording. To Brienne the heart almost looked like it was pulsating. Dany's eyes seemed to be staring right at them. The Dothraki figures woven into the background seemed to be cheering her on as she devoured the organ.

"What in the seven hells?" Brienne squeaked, taking a long step back. Jaime and Loras laughed at her. Recovering, Brienne said in a low voice, "I hope that's not on tonight's menu."

"Not that I can tell," Loras told her, turning to glance at the tapestry with a little shudder. "Seems like the same old stuff, fish and feet and fungus, but I hear there will be a special sweet treat coming out later."

Jaime pulled Brienne to the bench and Loras noticed that they were holding hands. He raised a sardonic eyebrow at Brienne and she knew he would have something snarky to say about it, hopefully later where Jaime couldn't hear.

"Ah, holding hands," _No such luck_, "How cute are you two? It's not often you see a couple of swordsmen holding hands so adorably."

"Really? I was sure I saw you and Renly holding hands at least once," Jaime said equably. Loras blushed. Jaime and Brienne sat down on the bench across from him and Jaime raised Brienne's hand and kissed it before releasing it. She scowled at him; was he playing it up for Ser Loras?

A server came by with wine cups and Loras filled them from the flagon that was already on the table. Soon afterwards food was brought by a sweating kitchen boy. "'Fraid we're all out of pigs' feet." He told them. "But we've got something else special tonight: pig stomach stuffed with pig pluck and boiled oats." He set the trenchers down and the veined pig stomachs seemed to quiver next to the fish. Instead of carrots there were a few prunes nestled on a lettuce leaf.

"What is pig pluck?" Brienne asked, stabbing tentatively at the greyish mass.

"Pig livers and lungs. Maybe some hearts if they haven't saved them for dessert." Jaime said, pushing his portion away. "I suppose the prunes are so we can more easily digest whatever doesn't make us vomit." he leaned over, moved Brienne's hair aside and whispered in her ear "Don't risk it; I bought us something to eat later."

"How sweet," Tyrion's voice said from behind them. "Whispering secrets in Lady Brienne's ear? Come on, share with the whole table. Cersei and I would like to hear what you're talking about"

"We're not falling for that again –"Jaime started to say as he and Brienne turned to look at Tyrion and came face to face with a glowering Cersei as well.

Tyrion looked beyond pleased with himself as he escorted Cersei around the table to sit next to Loras. Something was strange about Cersei's hair. It was slicked back from her face and the grooves of the comb had left it looking like thick greasy noodles. Her forehead gleamed a little with whatever she had used to style her hair. The freshly applied kohl around her eyes looked a little heavier than normal. Cersei held herself proudly upright in her regal gown, her curvy figure enhanced by the tailoring of the red and gold dress.

"_Love _your hair," said Loras, leaning toward her to sniff it. "And it smells so…earthy! You always were so daring in your hairstyles. I wouldn't be surprised if Queen Daenerys herself adopts this one."

Cersei looked daggers at him. She raised her hand in the air to command wine as she surveyed her tablemates. "Brother," she acknowledged Jaime with a little nod before turning to look at Brienne. She didn't bother to hide her contempt, "And our Beast of Tarth," she said, noting her brother's expression as he tensed in anger, "I mean, _Brienne_ of Tarth. _So_ sorry, they sound _so_ much alike. Brienne, Beast, Beast, Brienne. You can see how I would make such a mistake."

Brienne set her hand on Jaime's thigh, gripping it tightly to keep him from launching himself over the table at his sister. Cersei's malevolence was so obvious that it really didn't bother Brienne. She would sooner be called 'Beast' than Beauty' anyway. Jaime turned to look at her and she could see by his eyes how much he loathed Cersei before looking relieved when he realized that Brienne was not upset.

Cersei's hand still lingered in the air, but no one had attended to her need for wine. Tyrion raised his arm and was immediately attended by a server who ran to fetch a new flagon and cups for the table. Cersei abruptly lowered her arm.

"It seems my little brother commands some respect these days," she said coldly. "I imagine you must have weaseled your way into the child queen's good graces with your clownish appeal. What did you do, brother, act the fool and ride on a pig? Or did you juggle to amuse the little tart? I cannot understand all of these men fawning over the girl, so obviously flaunting her charms in her provocative clothes. Why, she makes Margaery Tyrell look classy." Loras started at that, but before he could defend his sister Cersei was continuing with her tirade. "That girl needs a proper septa to take her in hand and teach her the difference between allure and complete exposure. One almost expects her to bend over and let one of those barbaric Dothraki men mount her right here at dinner. She will never be respected as a queen when she looks like such a slut…"

"House Lannister" Tyrion interrupted, rolling his eyes, "Hear Me Bore." Everyone but Cersei laughed. Tyrion poured their wine and put a very full cup in front of Cersei.

There was a sudden metallic rumble from somewhere above and everyone but Tyrion looked up. First they saw a badly stuffed sheep being drawn by pulleys attached at intervals along the rafters. As they watched it being jerked along by a servant at one side of the hall they were startled by the sound of a drumroll. Before they could find its source another figure followed the track the sheep had taken. This one appeared to be stitched together from at least three Braavosi lizard carcasses and stuffed to make one long dragon shape: one reptile for the head, legs and tail, and at least two more torsos to make up the body. Wings had been made out of leather scraped so thin it looked translucent.

Tyrion shook his head sadly. "Her grace can't seem to grasp how a siege engine works, but she won't rest until she figures out how to make that poor pieced together lizard's wings flap. As it is she has two servants who have to operate the pulleys every hour or so.

As they watched the "dragon" chase after the sheep Cersei and Tyrion's food was brought and set before them. Both of them looked aghast at the pig stomach as it nestled next to the fish. Tyrion took a bite of the fish. "Well," he said, pulling the half chewed bite out of his mouth, "I had no idea Blackwater Bay was out of fresh fish."

"I was told tonight's fish was fresh," Ser Loras told him.

"I guess the problem is that I just can't tell the old cods from the new." Tyrion sighed. Looks like fruit for dinner again tonight. What do you say, Cersei, shall we stick with the grape?" Cersei did not deign to reply but held her now empty cup out for a refill.

"Ser Loras," Brienne asked after a moment, as she and Jaime sat awkwardly watching Jaime's siblings demolish the flagon of wine and then flag down a servant for more, "Do you know when the bard will be singing in the Queen's Ballroom?"

"It should be soon," he said. "If I were you I would go early to find a place to sit, unless you want to stay for dessert."

"Oh, do stay," Tyrion urged them, "I understand there will be hearts made from the sweetened melted hooves of horses. Yum!" He rubbed his belly and grinned.

Jaime climbed over the bench before Tyrion had finished speaking and held out his hand to Brienne. "My lady," he said, smiling at her. She took his hand and stepped over the bench herself. Jaime nodded farewell to the three at the table and he and Brienne made their way out. Under his breath Jaime told Brienne "I am going to kill that Tyrion. Did you see his face when he showed up with Cersei?" He paused so that Brienne could pull open the door for them. "Also, was it just me or did Cersei smell like bear grease?"


	11. Chapter 11

"Bear grease?" Brienne asked, "That was _Cersei_? I thought maybe they had used it to fry tonight's dinner." She thought a moment and said "Do you think that was what she had in her hair?"

Jaime laughed. "I hope using bear grease to style hair doesn't become popular. I know Loras has an eye for fashion, but do we really need the whole court smelling like a dog's dinner?"

"I may be wrong, but I think Loras was teasing your sister about her hairstyle, not condoning it. He's quite funny, you know."

"Is he?" Jaime asked with feigned curiosity. "I never noticed. Are you sure you aren't starting to fancy him?"

"Ah, you've caught me out Jaime," Brienne said saucily, "With those soft brown curls and golden eyes of his, how could I help it? I wonder if he's gotten good enough to defeat me in battle? I'm sure the small Isle of Tarth would be a fair prize for the third son of High Garden, don't you?"

Jaime's jaw clenched around a smile that did not touch his eyes. "I suppose it might, and the two of you are of an age… " Jaime's brows drew down over his eyes and his small smile became more cutting. "But would you really be happy with a man who could only love you if you were another man?"

"_In the dark I would be as beautiful as any man," _Brienne murmured under her breath as she looked away, their badinage suddenly losing its appeal.

Jaime turned to Brienne "What did you say?" he asked, confused. Their steps had taken them to the great oak double doors leading into the Queen's Ballroom. The torches in their iron sconces cast more shadows than light, and the two stood in the scant illumination next to the doors.

"Nothing." She said, hoping he wouldn't pursue what she hadn't intended him to hear. When he continued to wait for her answer she started to lead him to the doors.

He pulled her back with a little yank, "Brienne, just tell me what you said," He insisted.

"_Let go_," she said, trying to pull her fingers from his, the color rising in her cheeks as she tried shaking his fingers lose. He tightened them. "It wasn't important, Jaime. Now let go!" Her eyes had gone from sad to frustrated and angry. It was obvious that Jaime was determined to make her repeat what she had said. Brienne tried to distract him by reminding him, "The _last _time you accused me of fancying Loras you said yourself that a man could change."

Her brief smile was forced, and the hurt look in her eyes was easy for him to read. It riled him that she still refused to trust him with her feelings after all they had been through together. He released her hand but before she could turn away he had shifted his body quickly to trap her against the wall, his left hand holding her wrist down at her side and his right forearm braced against the wood paneling, caging her in. It was a swordsman's motion: graceful, instinctual, and menacing. Brienne's free hand came up between them and pressed against his chest. Jaime knew she was more than strong enough to escape his hold, and his stomach lurched as he realized he might have just undone any new trust he had won in the last few days by trying to force her to confide in him. He suddenly felt a little ashamed of his jealousy and possessiveness, his need to learn all of her secrets.

"Please. Tell me," He asked, his soft, gruff voice at odds with the move he had just used to capture her. Brienne relaxed the pressure of her hand on his chest, and though he did not shift his position, Jaime loosened his taut fighter's stance.

"Jaime, it was really nothing. I didn't mean to say it out loud and it's something embarrassing," Brienne told him with a huff of annoyance. "I said '_in the dark I would be as beautiful as any man_.'" She glanced down pointedly at her hand on his chest and then back at him, willing him to step back.

Jaime shook his head at her, "I can't even guess what that means. It sounds almost like a jape, but I know it wasn't."

Brienne sighed, "It was just a variation of something Hyle Hunt said to me when he suggested we marry so he could have Tarth and I could have a castle full of children by him." She rolled her eyes briefly, "That was when he tried to convince me to let him come to my room to show me how he could make that happen. He said to me '_in the dark you would be as beautiful as any other woman_.'" She looked at Jaime and he could see that her anger and embarrassment still smoldered, that confiding in him about the hedge knight's humiliating attempt at seduction had not been something she wanted to share with him.

Jaime felt his own fury rising, his protectiveness of Brienne heightened by her confession. "That poxy son of a whore! Would that we had let the worthless sack of shit swing in the wind to feed the crows." Jaime thought about how he had saved Brienne from being raped back when they were captives of the Bloody Mummers, how he had hoped then to prevent the hidden scars that rape would have left her with. He hadn't been around to save her from the likes of Hunt and every other man who had scored and wounded her heart with words and deeds not fitting from a knight or a knave. So much of the damage had been done before he had ever met her.

Without really knowing what he was about he suddenly wrapped his right arm around her waist and his hand rose to tangle into her hair. He leaned her back and as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders to keep her balance he kissed her hard, in a sudden fervor to blot out every unworthy man who had made it impossible for her to trust how he felt about her and to trust her own feelings. Brienne didn't try to push him away, but she also didn't welcome his kiss; she did not part her lips under his, or close her eyes or yield in any way. Jaime finally raised his head and looked at her, searching her eyes for a way to break through the barriers she had thrown up. Her lips were reddened from his fervent kisses, her eyes wide with questions and dark with emotion.

Jaime changed his stance to pull her up back upright until they were pressed together without an inch between them, with his arms wrapped around her waist. He knew he should step back from her, but he decided that she had enough room to back away if she was bothered by the feel of his rigid cock against her thigh; he was too intoxicated by her nearness and the memory of her lips beneath his to back away himself. He desired her and he wanted her to know it, to feel it and accept it. Brienne did not back away from him as he had feared she might and they both stood utterly still for a long moment, barely daring to breathe. Brienne set her hands low on Jaime's hips as they continued to take each other's measure eye to eye; there could be no misunderstanding about how intimately they were holding each another. Jaime knew that his eyes revealed to her all that he was feeling, but Brienne was still trying to keep her own guarded from him. Jaime raised his hand to her cheek and cupped it, "My Brienne," he said, his voice low and husky, watching as her eyes closed and she took a deep breath. He felt her hips settle against his and her fingers spread across his lower back as she opened her eyes to gaze into his own. Jaime brushed against her lips softly, feeling her respond shyly at first, but then quickly get swept up by their ardor as they fell into a fathomless kiss and the world around them spun away until the only point of light was the two of them yielding to each other.

"By the seven, you kids," came Tyrion's slightly slurred voice, "Get a chamber already."

Jaime and Brienne parted with a breathless laugh. "That's the problem, little brother," Jaime said without turning around, "we haven't got one." He smoothed his hand down Brienne's hair and gave her another little kiss. Brienne saw that Cersei was with Tyrion, but she was too caught up in the lingering memory of Jaime's lips against hers to do more than note the usual malign hatred there. Jaime twisted round to look at his brother and sister, but for obvious reasons chose not to turn all the way towards them. "Go on ahead. My lady and I will be along soon."

"C'mon, Cersei," Tyrion said to his sister, "We know when we're not wanted, don't we?" he started toward the door, "I believe I hear a flagon of hippocras calling your name, sister," he said as Cersei followed him to the doors, weaving slightly, "Do you hear it?" Tyrion asked as he pulled open one of the huge doors and cupped a hand to his ear, "Cersei, _Cerseiiiii_" he called in a whispery falsetto, "Yes, we hear you sweet spirits, we're coming!" he pretended his own hand had reached out and pulled him in. Jaime had turned back to Brienne, and did not see his sister mouth _whore_ at her before disappearing into the Queen's Ballroom after Tyrion.

"Now," Jaime said to Brienne with a sly smile, "about this thing you have for Ser Loras… "

She laughed at him, her eyes bright. "I'm not telling you _not_ to worry that I could be falling for him, but I rather thought he was beginning to fancy _you_. Honestly, I'm not at all sure I could compete."

"Wench." He said, and stole another quick, passionate kiss. Jaime felt elated by the hectic color in her cheeks and the liveliness of her eyes. The battle to convince her that he wanted more of her than friendship may not have been won yet, but he felt like he had been the victor in this round, despite his clumsy missteps. When he had kissed her in his room before dinner she had been flustered but had not backed away, and later she had even offered him her hand to hold, but the kiss they had just shared burned bright in his heart with the knowledge that she wanted more, too. He just might be getting better at this courting business.

"Come on, we don't want to miss it if they sing 'the Ice Spider Shuffle'" he told her with a grin.

"You just made that up." She accused him.

"Did I?" He said, letting her use the hand he wasn't holding to pull open one of the huge doors, "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

They entered the small but sumptuous hall, which was bright with torchlight reflected off of the beaten silver mirrors. Jaime had been in the room more times than he could remember, but Brienne had never set foot in it before. As expected, Queen Daenerys had lent her decorating touches to the ballroom, but they were nowhere near as gaudy as the carnival atmosphere she had created in the dining hall. Many of the chairs had been replaced by small couches and ample overstuffed chairs of soft kid leather, each draped with soft lamb's wool coverlets in Targaryen red and black. Small wood tables were scattered throughout and delicately wrought beaten silver bowls in the shape of curled, sleeping dragons graced each table. Some were filled with nuts, some with sweet-smelling pastries. Some of the dragon skulls from storage had been brought up for use here as incense burners, with bone inserts placed in the eye holes to hold the glowing scented cones. They could barely smell Cersei's hair over the richness of everything else in the room and the scent of spiced wine, new leather, and roasted nuts made the already small room feel even more intimate. The golden reflected light of the torches was warm and enveloping.

The Queen's Ballroom was meant to hold about one hundred people, but so far there was less than a third of that many present so far. On a dais between two roaring hearths a tall bard was tuning his lute as he sat on an ornate stool, a cup and flagon on a table beside him. He had long dark hair caught up at the base of his neck with a gold ribbon and the gleaming tail of it flowed down the green velvet of his jacket.

Jaime saw that Tyrion had claimed one of the overstuffed chairs near the front and Cersei was curled on a couch next to him by herself, cradling her wine cup near her nose as she inhaled its scent.

Jaime led Brienne to a couch near the doors. All of the furniture had been arranged so that everyone might have a decent view of the stage no matter where they sat. A large circular space had been left in front of the dais for dancing. Jaime hoped that by choosing to sit near the door they could sneak out if the bard wasn't to their liking or if the singing went past the time they had agreed to meet Lavakhat and Hemikh. Brienne settled into the soft cushions of the couch, leaving room for Jaime beside her. He lifted the coverlet off of the back of the couch and handed it to Brienne before sitting down himself.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Brienne asked, holding up the blanket.

"You could drape it over us and get comfortable," Jaime suggested with a raised eyebrow. Brienne frowned at him unconvincingly and draped the soft wool over their laps.

A server dressed in black livery with richly embroidered red Targaryen dragons on it hurried up to them. He bowed slightly and said "Ah, Lady Brienne, I am so glad you've arrived. We were worried you might not come." Brienne looked up at the man in confusion, and Jaime looked at her as though she could explain what was going on. "Oh, uh oh," the man said quickly, covering his mouth, "Forgive me, m'lady. I, well, I mean I was told to make sure you were well taken care of." The man was obviously trying to cover up something he hadn't been meant to reveal. Before they could ask the man more he hurried off and spoke rapidly to a serving girl, gesturing over at them urgently. The girl trotted off into an alcove and emerged with mugs and a pitcher of wine, which she hurriedly brought to them.

"M'lord, m'lady, mulled wine for you?" she asked nervously.

"Thank you, yes," Jaime told her with a charming smile meant to put her at ease. Brienne watched as the server blushed, obviously and predictably smitten by the handsome knight. She served Brienne first, handing her a steaming mug, and then presented one to Jaime, daring to brush his fingers as she did so. She dropped a quick curtsey, gave him one last coy look and hurried off to serve wine to new arrivals.

The room was filling quickly, and the intimate feel of the space was being overtaken by a festive air. Ser Loras came in followed by one of the young men Jaime recognized from the group that had been hovering around Brienne in the yard earlier. Loras nodded to Jaime and Brienne and settled into a couch on Brienne's side. The man who had come in with him stopped in front of Brienne and gave her a wide smile. "Lady Brienne!" he said enthusiastically, "Ser Loras told me you would be here tonight." He grasped her hand from the top of the coverlet and raised it for a kiss. He turned to Jaime and inclined his head, still lightly holding onto Brienne's hand. "Ser Jaime Lannister, I am so honored to finally meet you! I was brought up on tales of your skill and valor almost from the time I learned to walk and carry a wooden sword."

Jaime glanced out of the corner of his eye at Brienne, who finally took her hand back. "I am remiss in my courtesies," she said, "Ser Jaime, I would like to introduce Ser Dwayne of Lorath. Ser Dwayne, of course, already knows who you are."

Jaime stood and extended his left hand, enjoying Ser Dwayne's discomfiture as he first tried to extend his right hand to shake. When he offered his left Jaime gripped it so hard that Dwayne winced a little.

"Lorath?" Jaime asked, releasing his hand "I've not heard of the name before. Minor house?" He noted that the younger man was taller even than Brienne, with auburn hair, and a blandly handsome face. His eyes were similar in color to Loras', gold but with flecks of green. He wore snug, slightly glossy red leather breeches and a black silk tunic. Jaime was deciding he didn't much like him.

"No, Ser," Dwayne told him, "Lorath is on an island, much like Tarth." He smiled down at Brienne, "It is one of the free cities. I am Jourel of Lorath's eldest son and heir. Most of our wealth comes from the silver mines at the west side of the island. Queen Daenerys was very taken with the quality of our goods and invited me to come to King's Landing as her guest and to train with some of her loyal knights." He smiled down at Brienne, "I have been trying to convince Brienne to spar with me. I am not able to understand why she is not yet a knight."

Jaime noted his bold use of Brienne's name and found himself disliking this Ser Dwayne more and more. He sat back down next to her, rather closer than before.

"You flatter me, Ser Dwayne." Brienne smiled up at him, "I hope that we can find some time to spar before Ser Jaime and I head north again." She looked at Jaime and her affectionate smile for him warmed him through, "I promised Jaime that he could spar with me first, when we find the time."

Ser Dwayne was lingering before them, waiting for Brienne to look away from Jaime, when Loras called to him. "Ser Dwayne, do come sit here with me. You can have the side next to Brienne so that you can converse with her without looming over them like an overgrown ox." Loras patted the couch. Brienne looked over at Loras and smiled in thanks, and Dwayne took the offered seat.

The room had become quite full by the time Daenerys and her hangers' on made their entrance. The queen had dressed in flowing sandsilk the color of a desert sunset and a woven silver filet bound her hair back from her forehead. The silk was snug against her breasts and did nothing to hide their fullness or the thrust of her nipples against the thin silk. Her waist was cinched with a wide tooled leather belt that started just below her breasts and ended at the flare of her hips. The silk flowed down her flanks and arse in waves, both clinging to her curves and swirling around them. Tension flowed into the room along with Daenerys in the form of Ser Jorah Mormont, walking awkwardly behind her, trying to stare at her arse, hide his erection and keep one jealous eye on every man in the room, who he seemed to assume were all in a similar state.

Loras leaned across Dwayne and said in a low whisper to Brienne "Looks like Ser Jorah forgot to bury his nuts in the snow again." Brienne snorted as she tried to stifle a laugh. "Also," Loras said, "I'm fairly certain that stubby wood he's trying to hide barely qualifies as a twig." Brienne widened her eyes at him, looking scandalized, but Jaime had overheard him as well and laughed out loud.

Brienne turned to look at him as he continued to chuckle quietly, watching Jorah walk awkwardly behind the queen, "You're right," he whispered in her ear, "Loras _is_ funny." He put his right arm around her shoulder and pulled her toward him so he could kiss the top of her head. He kept his lips in her hair for a moment and then whispered, "Gods, you don't think he's got a mental image of every cock in the Red Keep, do you?"

Brienne pulled herself up to whisper in his ear, "No, just the ones belonging to men he fancies," and slid back down giggling.

Jaime shifted so that his arm was under hers and resting across her middle. He pulled her closer until she was leaning against him, but the position was awkward and there was no good way for her to position her arms and elbows. Jaime came to the realization that he had no experience at cuddling in an upright position or in public, and neither did Brienne. He felt a little bashful thinking about how much he didn't really know at his age. When he been with Cersei he had learned early how to be a good lover and how to satisfy a woman; he suspected that his sister was probably one of the most difficult women to please in the whole kingdom, and he had no doubts about his prowess in that respect. But the everyday pleasures of holding a woman one cared for probably came easier to the average fourteen year old boy. Jaime thought about how he had figured out how to hold Brienne's hand just recently, and laughed to himself about how ridiculous it was that a man of his age and reputation was acting like a green boy.

Brienne had pulled away to sit up again by this time, just as stymied as he was by the way their bodies didn't seem to fit together on the couch in any way except by sitting side by side. She smiled her shy smile, and he could tell she thought it was her fault somehow.

"Here, get up a minute," he told her, and she draped the coverlet over the back of the couch and stood, looking as though she wanted nothing more than to hide from the faces that turned to look at her from all over the room. Her height would always draw attention to her, and he knew how uncomfortable that made her. Jaime turned to the side and set his back against the cushioned armrest, then placed his right leg along the back of the couch. He gestured for Brienne to sit down with her back against him. She looked as though she might argue the point, but then reconsidered; she wanted more than anything to stop towering over everyone else that was already seated. She quickly settled herself between Jaime's legs and pulled her own knees up so that her feet rested on the couch. He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned against his chest, resting her own arms across his with her hands draped over his muscular forearms.

"Oh," she said, "I guess this i_s_ better," and tried to relax against him. She fidgeted a little nervously and grabbed the cover to drape over them again, then sat up to retrieve her mug of wine and to offer him his, and then to set them back down and rearrange the coverlet. Jaime patiently waited for her to settle down, wishing she would stop shifting around so much. He could only distract himself by doing math figures in his head for so long before he would have to resort to mentally reciting the Dornish poetry his father had made him memorize when he was eight. Finally, Brienne snuggled back against him and he was able to relax as well.

Very soon the noise level in the room rose as the bard got off his stool and bowed to the crowd. Jaime glanced around the room and caught Tyrion's knowing smirk and grinned back. Cersei was curled into one corner of her couch, facing the bard. She looked about ready to pass out and didn't seem to notice that Godfrey of Boane was perched on the other side of her couch watching her like a spider might watch a fly. Jaime wondered how or if they knew each other.

As the bard plucked a string on his lute the audience applauded. He made a grand flourish with his arm to the queen and made a low bow to her.

"I am honored to be here by her Grace's command," he said in a rich voice that carried to every corner of the room, "I am known as Brad the Bard and I have sung in the halls of kings and queens, khals and khaleesi's, from the free cities to the seven kingdoms to Vaes Dothrak and beyond. But I have never," he paused dramatically, "been in the presence of a queen half so beautiful as Queen Daenerys Targaryen." More applause erupted, especially from those seated closest to the queen.

The bard plucked a series of notes from his instrument and launched into "Dany's Divine Dragons," much to the evident appreciation of the crowd. Jaime had to admit the bard had talent as he soared through the song, ending with the final verses:

_Above the storm clouds limned in gold_

_Drogon soared as was foretold_

_All of Westeros beneath his wings_

_Rightful land of the Targaryen Kings _

_With Daenerys Stormborn riding high_

_The Mother of Dragons graced the sky_

_For far and long had she flown_

_And come to rule upon the Iron Throne_.

The bard was rewarded with wild applause, and Jaime thought he might have seen what looked like a pair of women's smallclothes flung upon the dais. Brad the Bard took his bows and gazed about the room, his dark-lashed blue eyes searching for a likely lady to serenade. He finally selected a minor lord's daughter from among those seated near the queen and, taking her hand, he escorted her up to the dais, seating her upon his stool. The girl was comely enough, Jaime supposed, but like so many lords' daughters he had met over the years her courtly manners verged on simpering, and her eyes, though pretty enough, looked less intelligent than any well-bred mare's. She perched upon the stool and gazed down at the bard who had settled cross-legged at her feet to sing her a ballad of lost love. Jaime doubted the girl had ever thought about the lyrics, though the song itself was popular enough. It told the story of a lord's daughter who had used her own death to warn her lover of danger, a thief wanted by the king's justice. In the end the thief's head was chopped off and no one was happy. Jaime had never cared for the song. He looked over at the maiden's lord father, and by his crossed arms and glowering face he wasn't fond of it either. When the bard escorted the lord's daughter back to his side it was clear from her father's glare that the girl was going to be under house guard for at least the next fortnight or however long the bard was still in King's Landing.

After that the bard took a few requests, and was offered many tankards of ale, cups of wine and flirtatious innuendos. He played a reel about a half-wit squire that had a half dozen couples dancing drunkenly before the dais.

Jaime's mind began to wander to his plans for later, when he could have Brienne all to himself in her chamber within the Maidenvault. All day he had been thinking about being alone with her and continuing to romance her and imagining how it would go, but now he began to feel his excitement tempered by nerves. Even as he had been planning how best to court Brienne his impulsiveness and impatience had driven him to demand more of her than she seemed ready for. He had never thought to share such an intimate kiss with her so soon, no matter how often he had imagined and wished for it. Having her here in his arms out in the open like this felt right. It was almost perfect, and his happiness seemed to thrum through his veins at the way she had completely relaxed into him; the weight of her against him, her warmth, the feel of her soft hair against his neck. He tightened his arms around her and kissed the top of her head making a little hum under his breath.

"You keep kissing me," Brienne informed him, tilting her head back to peer up at him, "why do you keep kissing me?" She was trying to look stern but failing miserably as she had to keep biting back a smile.

"Because you're letting me," Jaime said quietly, kissing her forehead.

"Oh," Brienne sighed, "Good answer." She stretched against him like a cat and he almost expected to hear her purr. The bard's singing had faded into the background and it didn't seem to matter that they were in a room with so many people as contentment settled over them like a downy blanket.

Then Brienne gave a little start as she heard her name, and they both realized that the singing had stopped and the bard was watching them with an indulgent smile. It was him that had said Brienne's name, and more than once. People in couches and chairs and standing along the walls were all craning their necks, looking at them. Jaime smiled nonchalantly and raised an eyebrow at the bard, clearing asking him to repeat himself. He knew Brienne would be wishing the seven hells would swallow her up at that moment, but he had enough experience at facing down crowds for both of them.

"I was just telling the audience, Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne, that tonight marks the debut of a new song written in Lady Brienne's honor," the bard said in his carrying voice. "I was hoping the Lady would come up here and let me sing it for her."

Brienne seemed to shrink into the couch, and Jaime said with a wide grin, "I believe she would be more comfortable right where she is, but pray continue with your song." Despite his outward confidence, Jaime was a little afraid the song would be mocking, and if that was the case the bard would be plucking lute splinters out of his face for a week – if he was lucky. Jaime looked around at the faces turned to them, noting the smile on Loras' and Dwayne's faces, a solemn but unworried nod from Tyrion, and a look of mean spirited anticipation from Cersei. He noticed that she had pulled herself up more alertly on her couch, but even from here he could see the grease spot on the armrest of the couch where she had laid her head. He was surprised to see that his Dothraki guards had slipped into the room and were leaning against the wall. They gave him nearly identical broad smiles and he wondered if they had known about the song ahead of time, as he suspected that Tyrion and Ser Loras had. Jaime kissed the top of Brienne's head again and whispered to her that everything would be fine.

The bard had settled on his stool with his lute, and he had also draped a pan flute on a cord over his head. With a nod to Jaime and Brienne he announced, "The Ballad of Brienne the Brave," and, bringing the flute to his lips he began playing a haunting melody to lead into the song before picking up his lute and beginning to sing:

_On a summer's day the Maid set sail_

_Traveling 'cross the Narrow Sea_

_She wore her armor over mail_

_Hoping someday a knight she'd be_

_Waves rocked and wild winds blew_

_Carrying her far from home_

_Away from Tarth and her waters blue_

_Never knowing how far she'd roam_

_Tall she stood, bright eyes alight _

_As salty spray blew back her hair _

_She wasn't a beauty, nor yet a knight _

_Though she had honor and her heart was fair_

_The maid was fearless, as she was Bold_

_Brienne the Brave, Brienne the true _

_Faithful as the knights of old_

_Brienne with eyes of sapphire blue_

Other than the sound of the bard and his instrument the room was silent, caught in the spell of the man's silky voice. There were so many verses that Jaime was losing track, but it seemed to cover nearly Brienne's entire history since leaving Tarth, at least the well-known parts. He sang of Brienne's defeat of Loras and her rise to the Rainbow Guard, and then, following a string of mournful notes on the flute, he sang of Renly's death and Brienne's grief and subsequent flight with Catelyn Stark. Jaime looked over and saw tears in Ser Loras' eyes for his late lover, King Renly.

_In a dungeon foul and dark_

_She and Ser Jaime took an oath_

_To twice doomed Lady Stark_

'_Twas a vow that bound them both_

_Brienne guarded her captive knight_

_Until he found a sword_

_He challenged the maid to fight_

_Oh, how that lion roared!_

_They battled, knight and maid_

'_Til in water she held him down_

_Ser Jaime was dismayed_

_So nearly did he drown_

_Then they heard the laughter_

_A sound they'd cause to fear_

_As they soon found after_

_When Bloody Mummers did appear_

As the song began to recall Jaime and Brienne's capture and his maiming, Brienne held Jaime's stump protectively in her hands and nestled her head into his neck. Jaime was touched by how much the memory still had such an effect on her. He felt himself cringing also, but for her travails during that awful time rather than his.

_The pair could not escape_

_That lawless stinking band_

_For Brienne they threatened rape_

_And severed the Kingslayer's hand_

_Vargo the Goat did maim_

_The realm's most famous knight_

_Took his paw, leaving him lame_

_A wounded lion, unable to fight_

_Brienne insisted "You cannot die_

_Oh Ser do not despair!_

_You must live and defy_

_The bloody mummer's snare."_

_But it was Brienne they made to stay_

_To entertain Hoat's ugly horde_

_They gave her to a bear to slay_

_Armed with a wooden sword_

_Just in time her knight arrived_

_And leapt into the ring_

_Because of him the maid survived_

_To take him to his king_

The bard repeated the chorus before going on with the next verses:

_Tall she stood, blue eyes alight _

_Possessed of ideals quite rare _

_She wasn't a beauty, nor yet a knight _

_But she was loyal and her heart was fair_

_The maid was fearless as she was Bold_

_Brienne the Brave, Brienne the true _

_Faithful as the knights of old_

_Brienne with eyes of sapphire blue_

_It's said that from those darkest days_

_Their love began to grow_

_And when they parted ways_

_Oathkeeper he did bestow_

_It was Valyrian steel she'd wield _

_Upon her noble quest_

_With a mare and oaken shield_

_At her true love's behest_

Jaime wondered how anyone had guessed the truth of them back then when they hadn't even realized it themselves. The bard went on to chronicle Brienne's quest for Sansa Stark, her near death from Biter and Lady Stoneheart, and their victory over the Brotherhood. _Such a long song_, thought Jaime, _it's a wonder everyone hasn't fallen asleep_. He happened to glance over at Cersei, who was wide awake and seething as she glared at the bard. _Perhaps she's guessed that this was happening when she was taking her walk of shame_, Jaime thought.

He realized that a tear had silently slipped down Brienne's cheek when she raised her hand to wipe it away. Was it a tear of appreciation for the song, or because of all they had been through? Or, like him, was she struck by the evidence of their love for each other in everything they had done; not that the song was especially subtle in playing up the romantic elements.

Eventually the song flowed into their current time:

_When the snow mounds like a wave_

_And all the world seems frozen_

_Goldenhand and Brienne the Brave_

_Fight for the cause they've chosen_

_Each night in dark and danger_

_They battle wights and Walkers White_

_Betwixt the Warrior and the Stranger_

_The Warrior Maid and her Knight_

_Some say she's secretly his bride_

_Her love, her knight, the lion-hearted_

_Meant to be always side by side_

_And never to be parted._

The song finished with a repeat of the chorus and as the last melancholy notes of the flute skirled away into the room, whistles and applause rang out from every corner. "You okay?" Jaime asked Brienne and felt her nod. "It's almost time to leave," he told her, seeing Lavakhat and Hemikh leave the room, but not before they gave the couple an approving look.

"Good," said Brienne, her voice a little shaky, "as soon as people get absorbed with something else, let's go."

That something else was the first familiar jaunty string of notes announcing "Queen Cersei's Strumpet Stomp," which had people gleefully making their way to the dance floor. Cersei's face flamed in fury that the song was being played in her presence, but half the audience seemed to forget she was even the subject of the song. Although they might not have even recognized her with her hair clumped in bear grease.

Brad the Bard led the crowd in the moves that went with the song.

_Everybody come and do the Stomp_

_Cersei's Strumpet Stomp_

And he stomped his feet and kicked up his knees in a one-one-two rhythm.

_So ladies curtsey and lords bow _

_All it takes is a little pomp_

_It's easy once you know how_

_Come join us for a bawdy romp!_

Bowing and leering looks…

_Beautiful Queen Cersei had a lust_

_That she sated upon her back _

_All it took was a little thrust_

_From the brothers Kettleblack_

Everyone knew this move as they aggressively thrust their pelvises at each other, most of them not bothering to stifle their leering giggles.

_Come everybody and do the Stomp_

_Cersei's Strumpet Stomp!_

_They say Queen Cersei was a whore_

_Who only wanted a good fuck_

_She had King Robert but needed more_

_And swapped the Stag for a young buck!_

A back kick and a hip bump with another participant.

_Slutty Queen Cersei had a lust_

_And all it took was a little thrust!_

Another group thrust, looking more than a little obscene.

_Everybody now, do the Stomp!_

_We'll have us a bawdy romp!_

And as the dancers continued to kick and stamp their feet Jaime and Brienne took off the coverlet, got off the couch, and hastily left the room. Jaime was grateful he hadn't gotten a mention in the song, but he knew that some people would read his place into it anyway. He would have tried to leave at the first note if they hadn't already been under scrutiny for Brienne's ballad.

Outside the door Brienne squeezed Jaime's hand and asked, "Are you okay? I know that song bothers you."

"I can handle it," Jaime told her, though his expression gave away the disgust he still carried for what he had gone through with Cersei. Lancel and the Kettleblacks and probably Moon Boy. _What excellent company_, he thought. "Does that song bother you much?" he asked her curiously.

"It used to bother me more," Brienne admitted as they began walking toward the Maidenvault.

"Why 'used to'?" Jaime asked.

"Because I never knew if you were still in love with Cersei or not."

Jaime looked over at her in the dim light and tilted his head, "You didn't really think I could still be in love with her, did you?"

"No," Brienne allowed, "I was pretty sure you were past that madness, but I did wonder if once you were near her again if you would end up between her legs." Brienne blushed, but held Jaime's eyes, watching for his response.

Jaime sucked in a breath and pulled her to a stop in the middle of the corridor. "You can't really have thought I was that stupid?"

"You are a man," she sighed, and tugged his hand to get him walking again. It wasn't really an answer Jaime knew what to do with. If he pulled her to him for a kiss, he would appear to be only interested in physical pleasure with any woman, even though his intention was to show her that she was the only woman he wanted. But he couldn't actually deny that he was a man, since obviously he was, with all a man's foibles and needs. It wasn't often she managed to leave him speechless, but this time she had. This really wasn't the time or place for declarations and promises, was it?

They finally reached the deserted alcove they had been headed toward and stepped into its shadows. They swapped boots and cloaks quickly, then stood back to examine one another. Jaime had pulled Brienne's midnight blue hood over his head so that his face was in shadow. At a glance he could be anybody, and with the Tarth sigil most people would just assume he was Brienne, especially with her distinctive boots on. He was a little shorter than her, but no enough to raise suspicion. Brienne reached out and ran her hand along his smooth angular jawline.

"Gods, if I were only as pretty as you," she said with a little smile. Jaime moved his head to kiss the palm of her hand, knowing arguing that point would be useless. He was not unaware of his attractiveness even though he tended to take it for granted.

He hesitated a moment and then said, "You are beautiful to me," hoping he wouldn't sound trite. Before Brienne could hide from the compliment he pulled her in for a lingering kiss that left her a little breathless. Jaime stepped back and looked her over. "I like you in my red cloak," he said admiringly, allowing his smile to turn sly. Brienne narrowed her eyes at him.

"I guess since according to the song I'm your secret bride it's appropriate, right?" and bit her bottom lip on a demure smile.

Jaime laughed, "But not so secretly my Wench. I need to go watch Hemikh work his magic. See you in a little while?" Brienne leaned in and kissed his lips briefly before she turned and strode away. Jaime watched her go, his red cloak floating out behind her.


	12. Chapter 12

Jaime left the series of small halls they had been in and walked outside into the blowing snow. There were only a few torches stuck behind walls to protect them from the wind, and the yard was dark except for the eerie glow of the snow. Jaime knew his way even in the uncertain light, passing the burned Tower of the Hand, then across the middle bailey and behind the Royal Sept, which had been the last place he and Cersei had fucked; the same day he had returned to King's Landing with Brienne.

It seemed a lifetime ago now, but he still felt slightly ill to remember it. All he had wanted after being a prisoner for a year had been to get back to his beloved sister, to get between her thighs and take his pleasure, to come home to her for good. Her revulsion at his maimed arm had been hurtful, but having his eyes opened to Cersei's true nature had been more painful still.

Before his capture, in his blind devotion to Cersei, Jaime had shuffled the knowledge of her madness away where he wouldn't have to examine it too closely. After his return to the Red Keep, even without the eventual knowledge of her unfaithfulness to him, seeing her wild grasp for power and the wanton cruelty that drove her had staggered him. He had loved her once, passionately and single-mindedly. Now he had no illusions left about her and had long ago come to feel nothing but self-disgust about how long he had held on after it became clear that his love for her had become a thing she used to manipulate him. He hadn't known then what it was to love someone with a true heart.

Jaime willed himself to shake off the grimness that always stalked him when he went near the Royal Sept, but since the Maidenvault was right behind the sept he could only walk faster and turn his thoughts back to Brienne, as they inevitably did.

He hurried into the large main doors and then ducked behind a turning in the wall to meet Hemikh and Lavakhat. Hemikh had a horn of some strong-smelling Dothraki liquor that he and Lavakhat were passing back and forth. Lavakhat offered the horn to Jaime, which he accepted. He took a large swallow of the stuff and it burned all the way down, tasting strongly of anise. Jaime had heard that Dothrakis favored a mild alcoholic drink made from fermented mare's milk: this wasn't it. He passed the horn back to Lavakhat.

The plan that Brienne had discussed with the men involved distracting the old woman who attended the door to the Maidenvault so that Jaime could slip inside and find Brienne's chambers. The details had been left up to them, and they seemed very pleased with themselves about whatever diversion that had come up with. Jaime indicated that he was ready to go in, and Hemikh handed the horn to Lavakhat, who thumped him on the back heartily. Hemikh then turned to Jaime, gave him a hard thump on the back for good luck and swaggered out into the corridor straight for the crone, who was half-dosing on a chair by the door, her chins sunk onto her chest.

Hemikh stopped right in front of her and spoke a few guttural words of Dothraki, smiling all the while. The woman was looking at him suspiciously when he simply put his hands to either side of his hips and imitated thrusting into a woman. The crone's first reaction was to let her jaw drop in astonishment, so Hemikh made the movement again, and then pointed to himself and to her. He held out his large callused hand and to Jaime's astonishment the woman allowed Hemikh to help her off the stool and then lead her away to a storage closet away the other direction from the wall they were hiding behind. Lavakhat had to push him laughingly forward before he remembered he was supposed to be going through the unguarded door. As he reached it and pulled it open he heard the muffled grunting of Hemikh and the surprisingly girlish moaning of the woman. He tried not to laugh too loudly as he went through the door.

Once inside he had to pause to get his bearings. He had been in this building before, but he was not very familiar with it. Brienne had told him how to find her chambers, so he started off down the left hallway as she had told him. About halfway down he heard the big door at the entrance open and shut, and he paused in a shadowy area between torches, keeping the cloak's hood pulled low. He peered back down the hallway and was dismayed to see his sister, and still weaving a little, coming down the hall. She was grumbling to herself and her hair was mashed down on one side of her head where she had rested it against the arm of the couch.

Jaime pulled the hood down over his face even more and started slowly walking forward again. Cersei eventually caught up and stepped right in front of him. "_You!_" She said in an accusatory voice. Jaime stopped, prepared for the confrontation to come. Cersei pointed her finger at him threateningly, and hissed, "You fucking ugly beast of a woman! Did you really think that _Jaime Lannister_ could end up with a sorry freckled freak like you?" Cersei was peering up into the darkness of the hood now, but her eyes were unfocused and she was shaking with hatred. "Do you think he's going to want to fuck a grotesque gargoyle who is barely even a woman?" Jaime had thought had figured out it it was him in Brienne's cloak and boots, but their ruse was good enough to fool Cersei, and now she actually did poke him in the arm with her finger, "Gods, just look at yourself." She said coldly, "Your muscles are bigger than Jaime's! You are nothing but a travesty of a woman." Jaime held his breath in astonishment as Cersei's tirade continued; he couldn't even imagine what Brienne might have done in his place. "You know what, Beastly Brienne?" Cersei nearly spat, "Jaime has always been mine and he always will be. He is going to come running back to me the second he knows I'll have him. So guess what, Beast? When something bad happens to you out there in the big wide north, and something _will_, you will be all alone. There will be no Jaime there protecting you, because he is going to be with _me_. He only wants to be with me. He'll be fucking _me_ so hard he won't even bother thinking about you." And just like that Cersei had said what she wanted to say and continued on down to her door without looking back. She fumbled at the latch for a second and went inside.

When she had gone Jaime stood for a long moment, his heart beating so erratically that he felt dizzy. He had known that Cersei hated Brienne, but he hadn't had any idea it went so deep. She had actually just threatened Brienne's life. His Wench, _his Brienne_. She couldn't have been serious, could she? Was Cersei just drunk enough to make idle threats in her jealousy over his closeness with Brienne? Cersei words implied that she didn't believe they were lovers, even though everyone else seemed to think so. But she must have thought there was some risk of it to be warning Brienne away. Her threats about getting Jaime back in her bed were probably even more disturbing to him than they would have been to Brienne…or _would_ that have upset Brienne? Perversely he rather hoped it would have even though he was glad that she hadn't heard it.

Cersei had really underestimated Brienne if she thought that threatening her with some vague danger would scare her. Cersei may have been too drunk to realize that Brienne would have been cautioned but not afraid. As Jaime thought about it he realized that Brienne probably would never even have mentioned Cersei's threats and insults to him at all. He was glad he knew about them himself; Brienne might underestimate what Cersei was willing to do to eliminate a rival or to get what she wanted, but if the rumors were to be believed about all of the people Cersei had given to Qyburn to torture and kill she was more dangerous than he had thought. Gods, she had sounded so deranged, so unlike her usual calculated hostility.

Jaime came to the door that should be Brienne's, and as promised she had looped a delicate blue ribbon through the latch so that he would know he had the right chamber.

Jaime opened the door and entered the room that Brienne had spent most nights in since they had come to the Red Keep for his trial. The room was large and sumptuous, with green and gold gathered draperies at intervals along the light brown walls. The floor had a stylized forest scene rendered in inlaid wood and colored stone. Jaime saw that there was a small table set next to one of the arched windows. There the maid had set out the bread and cheese and dried apricots he had purchased earlier in the day. A flagon of good Dornish wine and two carved and intricately painted wine cups stood ready, while several fat, sweet-smelling candles graced the middle of the table. The maid had placed lit candles on the sills of the three windows and on the small tables on either side of the bed.

The bed itself was square with each side longer than he and Brienne were tall. The huge spiral posts at each corner supported a canopy of flowing draperies in the same color as those on the walls, but of a finer, more translucent cloth. The draperies were tied back with sashes and Jaime could see that there were several small pillows scattered on the bed as well as two enormous pillows covered in velvet. He hoped they were stuffed with Stark Swan feathers.

Jaime found his saddle bag in the ornate chest at the foot of the bed. He set it on the bed and took out the leather rose and placed it under the pillow on the left side of the bed. Brienne usually slept to the left of him wherever they were. Jaime pulled some soft tan breeches and a white cotton shirt to sleep in out of the bag. He and Brienne seldom had the luxury of changing into sleeping clothes when they were on the road. Aside from looking forward to sleeping in such a comfortable bed with Brienne, Jaime wanted to feel a little civilized for a change; to look a little more civilized for her. He quickly changed out of the clothes he had worn all day, hoping Brienne wouldn't arrive before he was ready. He dashed water on his face from the basin that sat on a chest of drawers in one corner and then dried off with a small towel. He ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it out, but then decided with a shrug to use Brienne's brush, which was also sitting there next to the basin. Jaime was amused by his own preparations to spend the night with the woman he had spent over two years sleeping next to. Gods be good, he would have years yet to sleep beside her.

Once Jaime had changed clothes and cleaned up he started to become a little nervous and impatient for Brienne to arrive. He wasn't sure whether to sit on the bed or on a chair next to the table. No, not the bed, the thing had seduction written all over it, and tonight was about so much more. He walked over by the table but then decided to look around the room, to see what little signs of Brienne he might find there.

He saw her armor neatly laid out in one corner and remembered watching her arm up the other day when she hadn't known he had been watching. The woman really had no idea how the sight of her stirred him sometimes. Like seeing her eyes when they sparred, their wild elation when she was engaging him in battle and not holding back, trading stroke for stroke, weaving in and out of the intricate dance they created together. Not for the first time Jaime imagined seeing that look in her eyes as he moved with her in a far more intimate dance, when she would take him inside and he would move in her, make her call out his name like she had in her sleep last night. Jaime found he was resting his hand on Brienne's armor and it had warmed under his touch. His cock was tenting the loose breeches he wore and his heart was beating faster. _Damn, this is ridiculous_, he thought, _I want the woman so badly even her armor makes me hard_. He stepped away from the armor and tried to focus on something bland. _I had better sit down in case she comes in_, he thought, and went to sit in one of the chairs.

He concentrated on the forest scene on the floor, the trees picked out in blocky shapes with stone and wood which somehow still managed to convey a true forest in all its variety. He could almost imagine the sound of birds, the scrabbling of small rodents on the forest floor. He thought about when he and Brienne had been making their way through forested areas like this when they were on the road to King's landing, before their capture and his maiming. He looked up from the floor, trying to escape the pictures that came to him after, of the Bloody Mummers and how badly they had beaten Brienne, how badly they had beaten them both.

He looked over to the bed, wondering if she would be pleased with the rose. Roses were romantic, weren't they? And this one would last forever. She could keep it when they went north, a small reminder of spring and his regard for her. He found himself staring at the bed and his thoughts began to drift again. He began to wonder if maybe with all of the nights Brienne had spent in this room when he had still been locked on the second level of the dungeons if she had thought of him while she lay alone in that bed. Maybe she had even reached down and touched herself as she thought of him, had caressed and rubbed between her legs until her hips rose against her own hand, imaging it was him, coming undone with a shudder, moaning. _Crud_. He was never going get his arousal under control before she got there.

Dornish poetry. Now what was the first line of Captain Harrigan's Defeat? Just trying to remember that boring epic calmed his breathing as the blood moved sluggishly back to his brain.


	13. Chapter 13

As Brienne strode away in Jaime's cloak she was glad that he couldn't see her face, which must have flamed as red as the cloak she was wearing. Her heart thudded in her chest and she set her hand over it, as though she could still its erratic beating with a touch. _She_kissed _him_. What in the seven hells had she been thinking? She raised her hand to her lips, touching her fingertips to them. _Traitorous lips, traitorous heart. Traitorous Jaime_, she thought, _making me lose control, driving away all of my good sense_.

Earlier in the night when he kissed her in his room this game seemed less dangerous. When did it cease to feel safe? Sometime between dinner and what happened just outside the Queen's Ballroom, when Jaime demanded she confide in him, she realized. Rather than needling her with words to get the answers he wanted, Jaime had used his body to impel her to answer him. With effortless power and grace he'd pivoted to cage her in and pressured her to yield. It was a move for the sparring grounds, but in the field it wouldn't have surprised her half so much. In the field it wouldn't have felt so raw, so personal.

It was more than Jaime's insistence on having Brienne repeat what she'd said when he teased her about Loras, more than his indignant fury when she told him what Hunt had said to her. This was Jaime letting the man he was react to her as a woman in a way that felt like she was not his sparring partner but his conquest. Jaime's intensity and nearness made her body respond with a deep, instinctive yearning that pierced down to her core. Brienne had tried hard to deny the urge to yield, and when he first leaned her back and kissed her she'd held her ground and not responded. But when he pressed up against her and made her feel how much he wanted her both body and soul, looking into her eyes and willing her to feel it too, she weakened. He touched her face and said '_My Brienne_' in that deep, wanting voice, and she had fallen into their kiss and been undone.

The kisses that followed in an evening already full of surprises were less intense, but the sense of things changing between them was palpable. There had been an easy affection between them for a very long time, but in these last few days it all seemed different. Jaime seemed to be deliberately pushing at the boundaries of their friendship.

Brienne paused in her stride, a thought that had been hovering over her finally coalescing into something tangible: _Maybe he isn't just playing a game. Is he trying to turn our long friendship into something else, something more…?_ Brienne stood still in the corridor, turning the thought over in her head, trying to examine it from different angles as her doubts raced ahead of her, at every turn warring with the sudden awareness that this seemed true, that Jaime wanted there to be something more intimate between them than what they already had.

_It's just physical_, her doubts clamored at her, _he has been celibate a long time and he needs a woman_. Brienne mulled the thought over for a moment. There was some truth in it, she understood that. She admitted to herself that she was not innocent of wanting Jaime in that way as well, her love of him always tangled up in her desire for him. _He could have any woman,_ she thought, _he could have Cersei again, if he wanted to and if he had completely lost his mind_. _He could have had that serving girl tonight for one of his smiles_. But he'd been strangely faithful to Brienne, even though their relationship wasn't about sex or desire.

_Wasn't it_? She thought, remembering the times when they'd been drinking together and one of them had kissed the other. Sometimes the kisses were harmless, tentative, taken for comfort or reassurance. Other times they hadn't been so innocent. Those kisses she locked away in her memory and only brought out to examine and ruminate on when she found herself overcome by grief for what she could never have, intent on torturing herself for daring to love unrequited. She leaned back against the wall, remembering a run-down tavern in some no-name northern town, both she and Jaime piss drunk on the local rum. Jaime's lips on hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he held her tight, his hunger undeniable as he kissed and nuzzled her neck; his voice low and burred as he whispered into her hair that he loved her. _Loved her_. Gods, to remember such a thing, when they both should have been too drunk to recall it or give it credence.

Brienne was guilty of the same lapses as Jaime; more than once she had sought out his kisses, reveling in the passion they awoke in each other. They would let the alcohol leach away their inhibitions, but neither of them ever let it go too far. There was always a boundary they could step back from and blame it on the alcohol, on the too real possibility that any day might be their last, balanced on the sharp blade between death and survival.

Brienne prayed that she never admitted to Jaime how she loved him during one of those unguarded moments, hadn't slurred out some pathetic vow of eternal devotion. If she had, she prayed to the seven that he remembered it no better than she did.

Brienne didn't remember which of them had sought the first drunken kiss from the other; likely it was a mutual thing after some particularly horrific battle against the Others. Their first real kiss had actually been on the Quiet Isle. Jaime took her there after they defeated Lady Stoneheart. The Penitent Brothers had taken her in, gravely wounded and not expected to survive. Brienne had been delirious with fever and pain, her will to live shattered like her vows and her spirit. The elder Brother told her later that Jaime had lain next to her the whole time. He had held her and bound her to the world with his arms and his will. She remembered little but fever dreams from those weeks, but there was one memory as bright and strong as the summer sun back home; Jaime, watching her as she opened her eyes for what might have been the first time since they had come to the isle. Barely able to focus, she saw his concerned face, had been lucid enough to fancy his eyes the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, and as her own eyes started closing again to fade back into oblivion Jaime lowered his head and kissed her softly on the lips. She heard him say "_Don't leave me, Brienne. Please, don't ever leave me again_." And she hadn't.

Brienne was grateful for the emptiness of the corridor as she let the old memories and the new roll through her, trying to catch hold of what it all meant. She had walked almost all the way back to the Queen's Ballroom in her distraction, and she would need to walk back the other way soon to avoid meeting the people leaving when the bard finished singing. Jaime would be waiting for her in her chambers if everything had gone as planned.

Brienne wanted to go to him, to be with him, as always. But tonight she was uncertain, nervous. What would this night hold? Would they talk and joke and hold each other in sleep as usual? It seemed like the barrier between being friends and being the lovers everyone thought they were might have become so brittle that if they brushed up against it much more it would shatter. What was on the other side of that wall? Would their friendship be forever broken, exposed to the intimacy of what it seemed they were becoming? Was Jaime willing to risk that? Brienne wasn't sure that she was.

She had turned to walk back toward the building's exit when she heard the doors to the ballroom open. She began to walk fast, taking long strides, hoping no one would notice her as she retreated.

"Brienne!" Her name was being called by a pleasant male voice. Dwayne. She was almost out of earshot, if she just walked a little faster...

"Brienne," he was nearer this time. The man's legs were even longer than hers, and he closed the gap in no time. She stopped to face him. Ser Dwayne was laughingly out of breath when he caught up to her. "Lady Brienne, where are you going at such a great pace?" he asked, his gold and green eyes alight with amusement, auburn hair burnished by the torchlight.

Brienne saw Ser Loras coming up behind him, walking fast but at a disadvantage due to his shorter legs. He was smirking as he caught up to them in time to hear Brienne tell Ser Dwayne that she was just on her way to meet Jaime. They didn't need to know she was meeting him in her chambers.

"Wasn't he with you when you left a while ago?" asked Loras, "Don't tell me he ran away when they played Cersei's Strumpet Stomp?" Brienne gave Loras a sour look, which he chuckled at. The dignity of others seldom mattered to Loras. "Oh, but you missed it, Brienne," Loras told her gleefully, "Cersei got pulled up on the dance floor by Brad the Bard, and she actually danced a couple of verses of the Stomp with him."

Brienne examined Loras' face to see if he was kidding, but he was too good at this game to let it show. She turned and looked up at Ser Dwayne and he nodded in confirmation. "Cersei must have been really drunk," Brienne said. She pictured Jaime's sister thrusting her pelvis with the rest of the dancers and suppressed a shudder.

"It was _Cersei_," Loras said, "of _course_ she was drunk! Not only that, but that Brad does seem to have a way with the ladies."

"And the men, too, no doubt," Dwayne threw in, a little cattily. "But I'll grant you, the man has balls to get Cersei to dance to that song." All three of them laughed at the thought of what Cersei would have done to anyone who dared approach her during that song if she been sober, or had they not been as comely as Brad the Bard. Dwayne looked back towards the ballroom to make sure no one would overhear them, "She is still quite a beautiful woman;" Dwayne said earnestly, "but what in the seven hells was in her hair? Is that a Westerosi thing? The rendered animal fat look?"

Loras snickered, "That, Ser, is the latest trend here in the Keep. I understand that the price of bear grease has gone up tenfold to handle the demand for Cersei's slick style. Everyone will be wearing it before long."

Loras was making a jape, but Dwayne appeared to be taken in by the information. "Won't that play havoc with the bear population?" he asked with concern. Then he grinned; apparently he was very capable of keeping up with Loras' sense of humor. "And speaking of bears, Brienne the Brave, that was quite the story the bard sang about you. Did the Kingslayer really jump into a pit to rescue you from a bear?"

Brienne blushed. "Ser _Jaime_." She pointed out firmly, "His name is _not_ 'the Kingslayer.'"

"Ser Jaime," Loras told Dwayne, "not only jumped in to save Lady Brienne, but he went in without a weapon and with only one hand." He smiled at Brienne, his eyes twinkling, "it seems he is quite the romantic."

"Or quite the fool," Brienne said, hoping to end the subject.

They weren't going to let it go. "That must have been quite impressive," Dwayne said, "did he kill the bear bare handed?"

"With just one hand? Did he kill the bear single-handed?" Loras snorted. "No, but he risked his life betting that the men charged with escorting him back to King's Landing would not let the bear kill him, and he made sure that the bear couldn't kill Brienne." Loras looked at Brienne with a smile, and for once it was not mocking, "Tell Dwayne what Jaime did when he leapt into the ring."

Brienne sighed, but the truth was she loved telling the story herself, though she seldom did. "Jaime had already ridden away to go back to King's Landing," she started.

"He should never have left you there," Loras added.

Brienne ignored that. "When he realized the danger I was in, he made the whole party turn around and come back to Harrenhal, riding hard."

"What's Harrenhal?" asked Dwayne.

"A ruined, haunted castle," Loras told him impatiently. "Go on," he urged Brienne.

"He followed the sounds of the crowd of men watching and cheering on the bear to slay me. At first Jaime believed I could kill that bear myself. He was ready to cheer me on when he saw that they had given me a blunt tourney sword. That was when he vaulted over the wall and down into the pit with us. He shouted for me to get behind him, but I saw he had no weapons, while I had a sword."

"She'd already been mauled down her arm by the bear," Loras told Dwayne, "and the beast would have finished her soon."

Brienne nodded, wondering how Loras knew the story in such detail. "When I refused to get behind Jaime he kicked my legs out from under me and then stood over me,"

"Chivalrous," Dwayne said drily.

"Hush," said Loras, "you've _seen_ the woman fight. He had to knock her down to save her life." Brienne looked at Loras in astonishment. He looked back at her with a lopsided smile, "it was romantic as hell, something only a warrior would do for another warrior."

Brienne smiled back; it made sense, Loras defending Jaime's actions. Loras and Renly fought side by side for years; he had squired for Renly when he was younger and they had probably fallen in love then. Of course he would understand the bond between Jaime and Brienne on the field, even back in those early days.

"They shot the poor bear with arrows," Brienne said, "and we climbed out of the pit. I asked Jaime why he came back for me," Brienne said to Loras, offering him the final piece of the story she usually left out.

"What did he tell you?" Loras asked, like a kid waiting for the final sentence in a fairy tale.

Brienne said solemnly, "He said he'd dreamed of me."

Loras and Dwayne both said "Aw," and the three of them indulged in similar goofy grins.

"How sweet," came Tyrion's sarcastic voice from below. They all turned to look down at Tyrion, but Dwayne was the only one who blushed. Brienne thought that while he handled Loras' wit with ease he had a lot to learn about surviving Tyrion's cutting humor.

"My Lady Brienne, how lovely you look in Lannister Red." Tyrion said loudly, and this time Brienne blushed. She had forgotten that she was wearing Jaime's cloak. She hoped they wouldn't notice she wore his boots as well, as that would be even harder to explain. Loras and Dwayne looked at her with interest as her color deepened.

Thinking as fast as she could, Brienne said "I spilled wine on my cloak and Jaime didn't want me to catch a chill, so he loaned me his."

"How very sweet of him," Tyrion said, looking very much the imp. "Just the thing a maiden's true love would do. They should add that to the song." Brienne wanted to drop-kick him.

Loras looked Brienne up and down then, and she was certain he noticed the boots, but thankfully he didn't mention them. "It was a lovely song," he said. "Tyrion did not do it justice when he told me about it and asked me to make sure you would be there to hear it."

"You both knew about it?" Brienne asked, aghast. "And you let me go in there anyway?"

Tyrion chuckled, enjoying her pique. "Of course we did, silly woman! Half the fun is watching you try to hide from your fame. Watching you hide from it in Jaime's lap was just a bonus."

"I was not 'hiding' in his lap," Brienne insisted, "and besides, I have no fame,"

"No?" Tyrion asked, "Well, if you didn't before, you do now."

"Arg, by the teeth of the Warrior!" Brienne exclaimed.

"And the teats of the Mother," Tyrion intoned.

"Tyrion!" Brienne threatened.

"Yes, sister Brienne?"

"_I am not your sister_!" Brienne was incensed.

"Hm, I can see why you wouldn't want to be in that particular club," Tyrion mused, "but the song did say that you and Jaime were secretly wed, which would make you my good sister."

"It's just a stupid song!" Brienne protested, unable to stop herself from reacting to Tyrion's words, "by the Seven, Tyrion, did you have something to do with its writing? I swear I am going to tie you by your ankles to Rufus and let you dangle until morning!"

"Well, some might say I could use more blood flow to my head. It seems that most of my blood tends to reside somewhat lower… "

Loras and Dwayne were both laughing hard by this point. Brienne couldn't compete with Tyrion's wit, so she whirled and tried to stalk away.

"Running from a battle, Lady Brienne? I never took you for craven!" called Tyrion.

"Say "hi" to Ser Jaime for us," called Loras, and all three men chortled. Brienne stopped and turned to look at them, then came back to the little group, fists clenched.

"You ladies are worse than an embroidery circle of septas," she announced, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to head for the Maidenvault now that Loras had as much as announced to Tyrion that she was going to meet Jaime.

"I don't embroider," Tyrion said with asperity, also crossing his arms.

"I do," Loras said lightly, with a wink at Brienne. "I'll teach you if you like," he told Tyrion.

"I thank you, no," Tyrion demurred, holding up his stubby right hand, "these hands were made for loving, not knitting."

"Enough," Brienne announced, rolling her eyes, "it is time for me to be going. Goodnight, Sers, Lord Tyrion."

As she turned to go Tyrion said, "Wait, Brienne, let me walk with you a while."

"Don't you need to wait for your sister?" Brienne asked, looking pointedly back to the ballroom doors.

"Oh, Cersei wandered off a while ago, when she saw the bard chatting up some lord's fair daughter. I won't trouble you for long."

"I imagine you won't," Brienne said, "but I expect you'd trouble me for short all day long if I let you."

"Ha, ha," Tyrion gave her a courtesy laugh, but began walking so that she would follow. She waved to the knights and turned to walk next to Tyrion. It took a while to match her strides to his and she feared she was going to become tangled in her own feet the way she had to mince steps.

Tyrion got right to the point. Not looking up at her he said "What are your intentions toward my brother?"

"My intentions?" Brienne asked, confused.

"Yes, your intentions. Despite our differences I care deeply for Jaime. I always figured that Cersei would rip his heart out eventually, but I could do nothing to part them or to prevent the inevitable pain when Jaime came to realize the truth about our sweet sister."

"What has this to do with me?" Brienne asked suspiciously.

"Don't be coy, Lady Brienne. You and Jaime… " Tyrion sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know what you and Jaime are to each other. But I think I know what you are to him." Tyrion stopped and turned to Brienne; he reached out and ran the thick, soft fabric of Jaime's cloak through his fingers. "Jaime hurt me once," he told her, "but he thought he was being kind, the poor misguided man. I've had a long time to think about what he did, and I can find no other way he might have acted given our father's influence." Brienne nodded. Jaime had told her of Tyrion's first wife, the crofter's daughter, and of his role in separating Tyrion from her. Jaime still carried the guilt of it.

Tyrion sighed, letting a little melancholy creep into his voice, "Daenerys was going to have Jaime killed for what he did to her father. It is not entirely to my credit that she spared him. Part of it was the way he faced her down, in the great hall there before the iron throne, part of it was my council, my _pleading_, that she spare him, and a small part of it was the stories she heard about the two of you. Queen Dany is a very young woman, and she finds the two of you intriguing." He shrugged and looked seriously up at Brienne. His eyes were green like Jaime's, with depths to them she hadn't noticed before.

"Don't hurt him, Brienne." He said simply, "have a care for his feelings; he is a tender-hearted fool."

Brienne found she had a flutter in her stomach at Tyrion's words. Did he really suppose she had the power to hurt Jaime? She was so afraid of risking her own heart that she had hardly given a thought to Jaime's heart being at risk.

"I would never hurt him." She said sincerely, hoping Tyrion would accept her words. She was uncomfortable discussing her feelings for Jaime with his annoying little brother, particularly when she hadn't quite figured out what the relationship between her and Jaime was becoming.

Tyrion nodded, satisfied. He started to turn back toward the ballroom, but then looked up at her again, concern etched onto his features, making his scar stand out pale and raised across his face. "Don't trust Cersei. She's evil."

Brienne watched his retreating back for a long moment before she started walking again. Jaime would have been expecting her a while ago, provided he managed to sneak into the Maidenvault undetected. She wrapped his cloak closer around her as she approached the door to the outside yard. Jaime's scent on the cloak surrounded her and she breathed it in with a little hum of contentment before going out into a raging storm. The wind tried to snatch the cloak away as she clutched it to her, and the snow was blowing so hard that it stung her eyes. She trotted across the middle bailey and around the sept into the Maidenvault, gratefully pushing the door shut behind her.

She walked to the entrance where the crone drowsed on her chair. The woman awoke when she heard Brienne's steps and sat up straighter on her stool, her eyes bright in their nest of wrinkles. "Lady Brienne," she said, "decided to spend the night in your own chambers, then?" Brienne was about to nod when the woman went on in a cheerful voice. "What do you know about Dothraki men, m'lady?" she asked, with a broad smile.

Brienne stopped, staring at her. Gods, did something go wrong with the diversion?

"I speak a few words in their language" Brienne told her, "they are fierce warriors."

"Ah, but do you know why they call them Horse Lords?" the woman asked with an eyebrow raised, her smile widening until Brienne could see most of her surprisingly good teeth.

"Well, I assume it's because -" Brienne started to say, but the crone wasn't looking for an answer.

She winked at Brienne and lowered her voice so that Brienne needed to tilt her head to listen: "They're called Horse Lords because they're hung like horses!" the woman cackled, "and oh, can they ride!"

Brienne drew back, embarrassed, an unbidden image of her horse Sean taking a piss coming to mind. She bit her lip hard to keep from giggling and ducked through the door, the woman's bawdy laughter following her in.

She walked down the corridor and couldn't help imagining big, masculine Hemikh 'riding' the older woman, but when the image evolved into the woman with a riding crop exhorting him with yips and whistles to go faster she needed to shake her head hard to dislodge the picture.

She was trying to think of something bland when she noticed Cersei in the hall, wrapped in a rich gold robe with mink trim. She was walking towards Brienne, probably heading to one of the privy closets. Cersei looked up and saw her, and her eyes widened for a second before her dark eyebrows drew down over them in a look of disdain.

"Now you are wearing his cloak, you ridiculous beast?" she sneered, "Does Jaime even realize that you have it? You soil the Lannister name."

Brienne took a deep breath. This night she would not let Cersei get under her guard. "Jaime bade me wear it himself, and I just now left Tyrion, who did not mind seeing me in it. As you are no longer a Lannister, by the young queen's decree, I hardly see how _you_can object."

"Did you not heed me before?" Cersei whispered, coming up close to Brienne, "Jaime only does this to make sport of you. You are nothing more to him than a curiously ugly pet. He does not want you; he has never wanted anyone but me in his bed."

"Really?" Brienne asked, "Then pray explain how it is that Jaime and I have slept together more times since he left you to go with me to the Riverlands than the two of you did in your entire lives?" Brienne knew she risked Cersei realizing that she had answered her euphemism with a truth that might only be perceived in an indelicate way. She was surprised at her own temerity in defending what_might_ happen between her and Jaime someday from Cersei's hungry grasp. It would do Brienne's already questionable reputation little good to have Cersei believe she and Jaime were that intimate, but at this moment she couldn't bring herself to care. She had the satisfaction of watching Cersei's face turn unlovely and red with fury.

Brienne continued walking to her chamber, but turned around for one last dig, "I may be ugly," she said, "but _you_are pathetic." She adjusted the red cloak possessively around her shoulders and went on to her room, not looking back.

As she entered her chamber Brienne noticed the golden light that came from the fire burning in the hearth while candles flickered on tables and reflected from the windows. She saw that Jaime had fallen asleep on the big bed while waiting for her. He was dressed in soft nightclothes and his hair fanned around his head as he lay on his side in the middle of the bed, his arms wrapped around one of the big Stark Swan pillows, the other pillow under his head. His dark lashes fringed across his cheeks and his face was relaxed in sleep. Brienne imagined he might have looked like this as a child. His lips were parted, and Brienne shook her head at how anyone's teeth could be so alluring. She ran her tongue over her own teeth and was struck again by the unfairness of falling for someone so close to perfect. Would she love him less if he were as homely as she? No, she thought, but she might be able to love him more freely. Even his imperfections struck her as beautiful, the break at the bridge of his nose, the scars he bore, the place where he had lost his hand but gained her heart.

Brienne wanted to go over and stroke his golden hair, kiss his forehead, his nose, his lips. She did none of these things, because even though she was beginning to get an inkling that he might welcome them, she did not want to wake him just yet.

She was relieved that he was here and hadn't been caught and sent back to his room in Traitor's Walk, though if he had she would have simply gone there to sleep with him in his inadequate bed.

Still, she was glad she didn't have to face him just yet. The night had been too full of conjecture and revelation; she was glad of the chance to just relax. She swung Jaime's thick cloak off of her shoulders and draped it from a peg by the door. She saw the flagon and food on the table and went to pour herself a cup of the wine. She sat in one of the chairs and took a sip, letting her eyes rest on Jaime's sleeping form. Brienne was strangely touched that Jaime dressed in his nightclothes before she came. It seemed so normal, yet so intimate. Really, it was no wonder everyone assumed they were lovers, or even that they were married. Brienne willed back the moisture that came to her eyes when she thought about how dear to her what she had with Jaime was.

The wine was running warm through Brienne's veins already. It was several hours since they had eaten. They hadn't dared to eat the revolting meal served in the hall earlier, and the bread, cheese and dried fruit on the table was tempting. She would wait for Jaime to join her before partaking, though.

Brienne decided she might as well change into her sleeping shift. She set down the wine and went to the clothes chest where she stored her few possessions. In the bottom drawer she kept a couple of soft gowns she had commissioned when they had first arrived at the Red Keep. Jaime had been locked in the second level of cells in the dungeon, and Brienne had grasped at anything to take her mind off of his upcoming trial. She was practically catatonic with panic that she might lose him, so when a seamstress came to her to ask if she wished to order new clothing she readily agreed to it as a distraction. In addition to the two nightgowns she had given in to the woman's insistence that she also order some court gowns, even though she never expected to use them. Her father had sent her money when he learned she wasn't returning to Tarth immediately after she and Jaime found Sansa. Brienne had been very frugal with it. There was more than enough left to buy anything she needed while she was here, and she also hoped to go into King's Landing for a few comforts to take back north with her. She planned to ask Jaime to introduce her to Tobho Mott. Hemikh and Lavakhat had told her that his shop was a place of wonder, and what girl wouldn't want a shiny new dagger to take on the road?

Brienne decided on the robin's egg blue nightgown. She pulled it out of the drawer and ran the silky soft material through her fingers and sighed in sensual pleasure at such luxury. She hated wearing dresses, but she could still appreciate something as fine as this. Brienne looked back at the bed to be sure Jaime was still fast asleep. With her back to him she shucked off his boots and then undid her belt, setting it on the floor. She pulled her tunic up over her head, her nipples becoming taut in the sudden coolness. She brushed her fingers across them, roused by touching herself like this with Jaime safely asleep in the same room with her. Brienne inhaled shakily and reached to undo the laces of her breeches. She rolled the snug blue suede down her long legs and stepped out of them. Next she removed her woolen stockings. The only thing left was her smallclothes; she had little enough in the way of breasts that she never wrapped them or needed support, so all she wore was the briefest of smallclothes. She slid them down her thighs and kicked them to the side. She stood naked for a long moment before bending down to get clean smallclothes from the drawer and pull them on. Brienne shrugged the gown over her head; it was cut to fit her and settled easily over her broad shoulders and muscular arms. The long sleeves draped gracefully and the neckline was deep enough that it was not binding. It fit snugly against her chest and then flowed in graceful lines almost to the floor. Brienne looked down for a moment at the delicate lace the seamstress had stitched around the neckline, and wondered what had possessed her to order something so pretty and frivolous. She had to admit to herself that Jaime had been on her mind when she had chosen the fabrics and cut of this gown. She hadn't expected him to ever see it, and she supposed when he woke up he was likely to tease her about wearing something so girlie.

She reached out for the brush next to the wash basin and ran it slowly through her hair, remembering those desperate days before Jaime's trial. Queen Daenerys had cruelly made them wait for nearly a fortnight until she finally called Jaime to court. Brienne's days consisted of occasionally sparring in the yard with anyone willing to meet her sword, eating when someone reminded her to, and lying awake in her big bed, staring at the ceiling. She knew every groove in the wood beams there, and her tears had run down and wet her pillow on more than one night.

After Jaime received his lenient sentence just a few days ago she had only spent one night apart from him. Brienne sighed, thinking of last night again. She turned around, intending to retrieve her wine and sip it for a while, and maybe watch Jaime sleep for a little longer. As she turned she saw that Jaime had barely moved, but his eyes were open, watching her silently. When had he woken up? She'd been too bold dressing with him there, she realized, and blushed furiously wondering if he had been awake moments ago when she'd been standing nude with her back to him. Had he been watching as she ran her fingertips over her nipples? Would he have guessed what she was doing? Had she sighed out loud when she did? Brienne was in an agony between the embarrassment and arousal coursing through her at the thought of his eyes on her. Damn and damn.

"Jaime," she said, trying to be calm, "have you been awake long?"

"Long enough," he said, drawing in a deep breath. He moved to sit up and Brienne went to the table and poured him a cup of wine. She handed it to him and then sat down in the chair and took up her own drink. Her hands were trembling. No, her entire body was trembling, she realized. She sensed Jaime still watching her, and she knew what he wanted, because she wanted it, too. They had been able to deny this need even when their caution was undermined by drink, why shouldn't they be able to when they were sober? Their eyes locked, awareness searing between them. Jaime got off the bed, and she saw his arousal pushing against his soft breeches as he walked over and set his wine on the table then sat down in the chair across from her,.

"Wench," he breathed, "you torture me, you slay me." He reached over and picked up her hand and raised it to his lips, "you spin me about, and you must know how badly I want you right now." He looked up into her eyes, expecting and finding the mixture of fear and want reflected there. Her hand was trembling in his own and he turned it to kiss her palm softly, and then nestled his cheek into it. Brienne drew a shaky breath and lifted her other hand to push it through his soft hair. He raised his head from her hand and leaned toward her, lifted her chin with his stump and kissed her. Not chastely, but gently, reassuring her that he was in control of himself, that both of them were aware that something bigger was at stake here than sex.

Brienne remembered wondering earlier in the evening if what Jaime had been moving them towards was just about sex, having someone to fuck. Unexpectedly, the question had been asked and answered. It was _more_, much more than their physical longing for each other.

"I thought you were asleep," she said unnecessarily.

"I was," he said, tilting his head to give her a playful smile, "when I woke up I was sure I was still dreaming, though." Jaime watched as Brienne considered his words, looking up at him through her long blond lashes, "I've never seen this shift before," he said, reaching out to touch the sleeve.

"I had it made last week," Brienne told him.

"Somewhat thin for sleeping outside, isn't it?" His eyes were merry with his observation and Brienne looked quickly down at her chest, realizing for the first time that the fabric was thin enough to see the rosy tips of her breasts, to show clearly how hard her nipples stood out under his gaze.

"Fuck." She whispered under her breath. "Bad enough I gave you a show over there without meaning to… " she set down her wine and went to wrap her arms over her chest in mortification.

Jaime reached out and laid his hand on her forearm, sliding it to take her hand and pull it away from her chest. He kissed her hand and laid it firmly on the table, his own resting atop it long enough for her to get the message that he wanted her to leave hers there. He held her eyes as he raised his hand and brushed one of her nipples through the silky cloth with his thumb. Brienne drew in a startled breath, as the sensation of his touch spread heat down her body to spread between her legs, making her cunt pulse with need. She took a shaky breath, and knew by the darkness of his eyes in the glowing candlelight that her own must be dusky with passion as well.

As Brienne watched, Jaime lowered his gaze to watch as he caressed her nipple, his breathing uneven as he rolled it lightly between a finger and thumb. He looked back up into her eyes as he moved his hand and cupped her other breast. Seeing her breathing was as ragged as his, he brought his lips to the breast he held and kissed it. His raised his right arm and wrapped it around her back, pulling her closer to his mouth. Brienne watched as his tongue flicked out against the fabric before his lips closed on her nipple and drew it into his mouth. She shivered against him and moaned, letting her head fall back until her neck arched and her hair streamed down her back. Jaime raised his head and kissed her throat, moving his lips up the column of it, pressing his tongue to the pale freckles there. He threaded his fingers into her hair and sucked at the pulse point beneath her jaw, his own moan mingling with hers. Jaime stood and pulled her up with him, moving to take her lips with his own and kiss her, their bodies melding together.

Jaime pulled away from her mouth and grinned at her, biting his bottom lip. "Was that all right?" he asked, "I meant to be more gallant, but the sight of you, Wench, by the gods," he sighed, "the way you sound, the way you smell when you're excited…"

"Jaime," Brienne warned, embarrassed.

"So innocent, my lady," he said and watched as she ducked her head. He put his mouth to her ear, "I'm glad that I can do that to you, Wench, because it means you can't hide your arousal any more than I can."

His cock was rigid against her through her gown and she thought about all the times she had felt him hard against her in bed, and of her body's response to him. Jaime watched the horror dawning on her face and laughed. "Oh, don't worry, Wench, it isn't _that_obvious most of the time, especially with all the layers of clothing we wear. But judging by the look on your face it happens a lot more often than you want to admit, or than I ever guessed." Jaime looked insufferably pleased with his deduction.

"Is it 'gallant' to mortify me like this, Ser?" Brienne asked shortly, feeling betrayed by the way her cunt responded to his words and the pressure of him against her.

Jaime laughed at her outright. "Serves you right, pretending you didn't know what you were doing to me all those times you rubbed your arse against me."

"Not _every_ time-" Brienne started to say and then caught herself. "Shit." She growled shortly. "Fuck."

Jaime put his hand and stump on her upper arms and propelled her toward the bed. "Sit down, my wench, and let's eat before we fall over. I'll bring the tray over."

Brienne crawled over to the left side of the bed, and was about to settle there on her side when she saw the rose that had been under the pillow before Jaime had fallen asleep and pulled it against him. Of all the things to find in their bed, a rose wasn't something she was happy to see. It was a wonder she could even bear to be near Loras Tyrell, she thought, with his stupid house sigil. She picked it up and saw that it wasn't a real rose, but one artfully made of leather, each petal carefully crafted and dyed in shades of red, the green leather stem long and elegant. It was beautiful, but it was still a rose.

Jaime was carrying the tray over and saw Brienne holding the gift, dismay written across her face. As he set the tray down she looked up at him questioningly, holding it out. "What is this?" she asked.

"A leather rose," Jaime said in confusion.

"I know it's a damn rose," Brienne said, "why is it in our bed?"

Jaime walked around to sit next to her and take the offending flower from her fingers. "I got it for you in King's Landing," he told her. "For some reason I thought you might like it," he sighed. "I take it I've made a mistake."

Brienne looked at his disappointed expression and took some pity on him. "I'm sorry Jaime, it's just that roses and I don't get along. A man I was betrothed to when I was twelve delivered his rejection to me by way of a rose, and I have hated them ever since."

"Connington," Jaime said the name like a curse, "that toothless cretin. I'd forgotten all about the rose."

Brienne looked at him in consternation, "Red Ronnet Connington? How is it you know him, and how did you learn about the rose?"

"He was with me when I returned to Harrenhal. I ran into him in the bear pit and he asked me about what happened there. He told me about your betrothal. _Now_ I remember him mentioning the rose," Jaime told her, "just before I knocked his teeth out with my golden hand."

"You hit him?" Brienne asked, "Why?"

"He needed to learn a little respect. When he told me about his part in refusing the betrothal I decided he needed to remember the lesson every time he tried to gum his meat thereafter."

"You did that for me?" Brienne asked, surprise and perhaps even gratitude on her face.

"No," Jaime said shortly, "I did it for me." He took the rose from her and walked back around the bed with it. He stood a moment, undecided, and then walked over and held it over the flame of a candle.

"What are you doing?" Brienne yelped.

"Burning the thing." Jaime told her. "I may as well. This was even worse than the carrots."

"Please don't burn it, Jaime." Brienne pleaded, jumping off of the bed and running over to pull his hand away from the flame. A couple of the petals were singed, and the smell of burning leather drifted in the air. Brienne took it from his hand and carried it over to set it on the chest. "What do you mean, worse than carrots?"

"Wench, in case you hadn't noticed I am _trying_ to court you. I gave you carrots for your horse, just like that idiot Hyle Hunt did." Jaime dropped back onto the bed in disgust, "And now I've given you a rose, apparently an even worse sin."

"You've been _courting_ me?" Brienne asked.

"No, Wench, I'm trying to sell you on pig plock as a tasty substitute for real food. Yes, what the seven hells did you think?" Jaime scoffed, "Anything else you'd like to warn me about before I run you straight into some other knight's arms?"

"Sure," Brienne said, "don't get a monkey."

"Too late." Jaime said. "Anything else?"

"You do _not_ have a monkey!" Brienne laughed, "don't you even want to know why no monkeys?"

"No." Jaime said as Brienne sat back on the bed. He put one of the pillows back at the top of the bed and lay down with his head on it. He draped his right arm over his eyes and crossed his legs at the ankle. "Gods, but you exhaust me." He mumbled, but Brienne could see the twitch at the corner of his mouth as he held back a smile.  
Brienne moved the tray to the foot of the bed and then snuggled up close to Jaime, resting her head on his shoulder. After several long moments he gave in and turned his body to face her, wrapping both arms around her.

"I've never been courted for real before," she said, "what should I be expecting?"

"I would have said flowers." Jaime said with a dramatic sigh.

"You gave me a flower once before you know." Brienne said, kissing his shoulder lightly.

"Did I?" Jaime chuckled, "and did you have a fit about it?"

"No, I didn't have a 'fit.' Not where you could see, anyway." Brienne said, "It was a wildflower. You picked it for me when it started to get colder. It seemed to be the only flower left in the whole world and you told me it was to remind me that we'd see summer again someday." She sighed a little dreamily, "I kept it."

"You did? How?"

"Do you want to see?" she asked.

Jaime grinned and nodded. Brienne got up and went over to her armor. She picked up her helm and turned it upside down to slip a finger between the layers of padding inside. She carefully extracted a small folded piece of red linen and brought it over to the bed. She settled down cross-legged on the mattress, trying to drape her nightgown modestly across her legs, a task that had Jaime's undivided attention. When she had herself covered she looked at him in triumph.

"That's cute, Wench. It's like you don't realize I can see practically right through your gown. Those smallclothes don't cover much, do they?" he said with a raised eyebrow. "Let's see it then," he told her, watching as pink suffused her cheeks. "The _flower_, Wench. Get your mind out of the moat."

Brienne set the linen on the bed and unfolded it to show Jaime the small dried flower nestled inside. Jaime reached out a finger and traced the delicate petals of faded red bleeding into a golden yellow. He looked up at Brienne. "You wear this in your helm?" he asked. Brienne nodded and shrugged. "Lannister colors," Jaime said, "I doubt I realized that when I picked it. You wear it almost as a favor then," he said softly.

"No," Brienne, said, "I just...I like to keep it near me. It's more of a talisman I suppose."

"I would be honored if you would wear a favor from me, Brienne. If not this, would you carry something else if I gave you one?"

Brienne nodded, wide-eyed. She carefully re-wrapped her flower and got decorously off the bed, too aware that her gown wasn't concealing much. She slid the linen back into her helm as Jaime arranged the tray of food for them in the middle of the bed. She picked up their wine cups and set Jaime's on his bedside table, then carried hers around to her side.

She helped Jaime to take the loose cloth off of the aged cheese and used his dagger to slice both the cheese and the bread for them. She stretched herself across her side of the bed facing Jaime.

"Shall we toast something?" Brienne asked, holding out her cup of wine.

Jamie picked up his wine and held it out. "To us," he grinned.


	14. Chapter 14

Jaime and Brienne worked their way through the food and wine, talking and laughing. Brienne told Jaime what she had heard about Cersei dancing to the Stomp with the bard, and Jaime told Brienne about Hemikh's diversion with the crone at the door.

"You should have seen him, Wench, he walked right up to her, said something in Dothraki, and then he… well, he made a motion with his, um, his hips, at her,"

"His hips?" Brienne asked with a skeptical smile, "you mean like they do when dancing the Stomp and they bump hips?"

"No, not exactly," Jaime told her, "it was more of a thrust, really. He thrust at her and she –"

"He thrust at her? That sounds odd. How did he do that? Was _that_ like the dance move?"

"A _little_ like the dance move. He mimicked fucking, okay?" Jaime said, biting his lip as he smiled, watching for her reaction.

"Mimicked fucking." Brienne said, tilting her head. "I'm not getting a clear picture here, Jaime. How does one mimic fucking? Did he touch her when he did this?"

"No," Jaime said, beginning to catch on that she was teasing him. "He was standing in front of her and he made this _movement_."

"Show me," Brienne said.

"Show you?"

"Are you embarrassed to show me, Jaime?" she said, looking at him over the rim of her wine cup.

"Maybe." Jaime said, "I think it would just look silly if I did it."

"_It_ would look silly or _you_ would look silly?"

"Both." Jaime said, and took a drink of his wine. He set the cup on the table and picked up a dried apricot, popping it into his mouth.

Brienne watched him, her eyebrows raised. "Did Hemikh look embarrassed?" she asked.

"Of course not, Wench, he looked like he'd done it a thousand times before. You know how the Dothraki are."

"No," Brienne said, "how are they?"

"They fuck in public, Wench."

"Tell me he didn't try to fuck that woman out in the corridor," Brienne said with a laugh.

"No, he thrust at her once, she looked at him like he was mad, he thrust again and then held his hand out to her."

"And then what?"

"She put her hand in his and he led her to a supply room." Jaime shrugged.

"And then?" Brienne asked again.

"Then they fucked."

"How do you know?"

"I _heard_ them, Brienne. Both of them."

"Hemikh must have been very persuasive." Brienne said, grinning. "What a shame you won't show me what he did, since I missed it."

"Getting interested in Dothrakis now, my lady?" Jaime asked, leaning across the bed until they were nearly nose to nose.

"Maybe," she said. "Probably. Could be I'm just intrigued by this magical move that had that woman following a stranger for a quick fuck amongst the mops and dust cloths," Brienne mused, "I'll never know, since you won't show me."

"If I show you, what will you do for me?" Jaime said, rubbing his nose against hers.

Brienne blushed, "Well, it won't be a quick fuck amongst the cleaning equipment," she said, "how about a kiss?"

Jaime leaned closer, his tongue swiping against her closed lips before he lightly pulled her bottom lip between his teeth. He sat back and smirked at her. "Nope. Looks like I can get one of those without making myself look the fool. What else you got?"

Brienne was struck momentarily speechless, suddenly shy, "You just _stole_ that one." Brienne said, "How about if _I_ kiss _you_?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," Jaime said, still grinning.

"Well, no," Brienne admitted, "I kissed you when we parted earlier in the evening."

"That's not what I meant," Jaime told her, "You've stolen more than one kiss from me before this, Wench." Jaime watched her blush at his mention of their previous drunken kisses. Now that she accepted he was courting her he wanted them both to stop pretending there had never been anything romantic between them.

"You are trying to embarrass me, Ser, and it's working," Brienne sighed, "But very well, I admit to having stolen a _few_ kisses. My offer still stands: would you have an almost-sober kiss from me in exchange for showing me this intriguing Dothraki move?"

"Okay," Jaime said, "but I want a real kiss. I want you to kiss me like you do when you aren't afraid I'll remember it later and think it _meant_something." He felt his heart speed up, recalling what Brienne could be like when she stopped worrying long enough to let herself take what she wanted. He observed her changing expressions as she considered what he was asking of her. Was it too much, asking her to lower her guard with him so soon?

She nodded, agreeing with his terms, briefly meeting his eyes.

Jaime got off the bed and stood in front of her. "Come forward a little," he said, "as though you are sitting on a chair facing me." Brienne sat on the edge of the bed, her back straight, staring up at his face several inches above hers.

The light hearted teasing of moments ago was forgotten as Jaime moved closer and nudged her long legs apart, using his hand and stump to slide her silky nightgown up past her knees and over her thighs. He moved between her legs until he was pressed against her smallclothes and wrapped his left hand around her hip and his right forearm around her waist.

"I thought you said he didn't touch her," Brienne managed to say.

"He didn't." Jaime said and then slowly rocked into her. The firm muscle of his thigh ground against her through her smallclothes as he held her hips against him. He continued slowly thrusting against her, his cock hard and warm against her belly through the thin material of her nightgown.

Jaime watched her chest rise and fall as her breath caught on a sigh and her hands rose to hold his waist as he continued to rhythmically move his body against hers. Brienne's nipples tightened against the friction of his cotton shirt and the low neckline of her gown exposed the tops of her breasts to his view, her rosy areolas flushed with desire. Jaime wished he could take off their clothes and feel her against him. He groaned and felt himself swelling harder as he thought about finally being naked next to her. Barely managing to stay in control, he backed a few inches away from her, holding his body still with an effort.

Brienne looked up into his eyes, as dazed by passion as he was. She pulled him back to her, rising up until her mouth latched onto his. Her hands came up and tangled in his hair and she pulled him on top of her on the bed. Kissing him deeply, her tongue exploring his lips and teeth, moaning against him and rolling her hips, she opened her legs and cradled him against her core. Jaime thrust against her hard, once, twice, thrice, Brienne watched as his eyes squeezed shut and he gasped with the strength of his climax; his cock throbbed against her as he spent himself, panting out her name, drawing it out in a low, shuddering moan.

Jaime collapsed next to Brienne and she held him as he shivered with the intensity his release had left behind. Jaime couldn't remember the last time he had lost control like this, like an inexperienced boy. He nestled his face against Brienne's neck and she stroked his hair again and again, soothing and loving, murmuring his name softly.

It had never been thus with Cersei; nearly always he had barely slaked his desire before their thoughts turned to his needing to leave her chambers. Even if they had been able to take the time he knew that Cersei wouldn't have held him like this as his breathing steadied, as his soaring soul made its way back to his body. He felt a little ashamed for even thinking of Cersei as he lay next to Brienne.

Jaime kissed Brienne's throat, moving his lips up to her jaw, sucking on her earlobe. She turned her head to capture his lips with her own and Jaime pulled her onto his chest.

Jaime laughed a little, "I'm sorry, Wench, I tried to stop, but you -" but then he noticed that a tear had slipped down her cheek, the track of it barely glistening in the light. She closed her eyes and her lashes were wet with tears she hadn't let fall. "Oh, Brienne," Jaime said, stricken, "my sweetling, what have I done?"

Brienne opened her eyes, and Jaime was relieved to see the expression in them was not as sad as he'd feared.

"Sweetling?" she asked, amused.

Jaime reached up to push her hair away from her face, catching a strand that had stuck in the moisture left by the tear. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not. Not really," she said quietly, "it was only that single tear." She looked as though she was trying to gather her courage to explain how she felt to him, but the words did not come easily.

"Did I make you uncomfortable? I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have touched you like that, moved against you that way when you weren't ready." Jaime said miserably.

"Oh, Jaime, that isn't it," Brienne assured him. "I think it was just…_watching_ you. Seeing you like that, gods, it's hard to explain, but hearing you call out my name, seeing you peak…" she sighed and laid her head against his chest. "I know it's silly, but it made me a little emotional, joyous, to see you like that. With me, _because_ of me."

It took a moment for Jaime to figure out what to say; he might have flippantly replied that it had been pretty joyous for him as well, but he didn't want to spoil her revelation with a jest. Overwhelmed by her unexpected explanation, warmed and humbled by her generous heart, he held her tighter. He wanted to watch her unravel for him as well. He had imagined it so many times as he stroked his cock, needing and wanting her so badly, fantasizing about how hard he would make her come someday.

"I want to see _you_ like that," Jaime told her, his throat closing on how much he wanted it, wondering if she would be willing to let him try. He felt Brienne stiffen in his arms, her desire warring with her modesty. It would be better to lead her into it, Jaime thought, rather than asking for her consent.

He began to stroke her back, kneading the strong muscles there, caressing her arms, her sides; he could feel it as she let herself relax. Jaime pulled her higher on his chest so he could reach the small of her back, massaging her and knuckling her spine before running his hand and stump over the flare of her hips, the rise of her ass. He found the pulse point in her neck with his lips and bit it lightly before sucking on her skin, slowly increasing the pressure, leaving his mark on her until she was squirming against him.

Jaime slid his hand beneath her smallclothes and spread his fingers across one firm cheek, squeezing it lightly, giving her a moment to accept that his hand was under her clothes. He moved his thumb down the seam of her bottom before pulling her against his growing arousal.

Jaime still felt the sticky moisture in his breeches from earlier and wished he could take them off; they made him feel like an adolescent boy who didn't have enough control to keep from getting off while he was still dressed. Much of this night was making him feel like an innocent cub as he tried to learn the only lover he'd had besides Cersei. Everything was different with Brienne; everything was new, despite his age and experience. He and Cersei had lost their virginity together, but Cersei had always known what she wanted, had always let him know how to please her.

Maybe someday Brienne would be able to tell him what excited her, but Jaime suspected she had yet to learn that herself. As he moved his lips over her collar bone and slid them lower down her chest the small sounds she made guided him. He used his body to roll her onto her back and cover her, supporting his weight on his forearms. Her nightgown was tangled up around her waist but she either didn't notice or didn't care as her beautiful eyes dreamily gazed into his.

Jaime badly wanted to whisper out his love for Brienne right then, as their souls lay bare to each other. Once before, unable to stop himself, he had told her he loved her; They had been drunk on rum as he kissed her and held her, but not so drunk he couldn't recognize the feeling welling up in his chest that needed expression: _I love you_… The words had echoed through his mind for weeks afterwards, tormenting him. The time had never seemed right for them out there in the bleak, black winter, knowing either of them could be dead and ash between one heartbeat and the next. So they had loved, quietly, desperately, neither daring to declare their feelings when there was already so much to lose.

Lowering his head with the intensity of his feeling, Jaime whispered silently against her cheek, her jaw, her neck: _my Brienne, my love, Wench, mine.._while moving his body down hers, finding the neckline of her gown and tracing the edge of lace there with a trembling finger before pushing the fabric down below her breasts, the sound of her sudden gasp making his cock throb. He drew a nipple into his mouth as he watched her face, saw her mouth open in a silent cry as her neck arched back and he began to suckle the erect little bud, pinching and rolling the other nipple between his fingers as his hips moved against her like he had done earlier.

Jaime moved off of her and hugged her to his side briefly before beginning to explore her body again, moving his stump and hand over her ribs, over the slope of her belly leading down to her low-cut smallclothes. His finger brushed over the hair peeking over the top of the fabric. With a glance to make sure Brienne wasn't going to stop him he slid his fingers under the cloth, feeling the soft wavy hair there, unfurling his fingers against it and easing them lower. He felt Brienne tense.

"Trust me," he said in a low voice, meeting her eyes.

Brienne nodded, swallowing thickly, "I trust you," she sighed, and stretched, her thighs rubbing together and then parting again slightly.

Jaime traced the seam of her cunt with one finger, rubbing against it from one end to the other, over and over, without dipping inside. Brienne's eyes fluttered closed and her breathing became shallow. The smell of her arousal was growing stronger, and Jaime knew as he pressed his thumb between the lips of her slit that she would be wet with the desire he'd awoken there. He moved his thumb against her clit for a moment, but was constrained by her smallclothes.

He got off of the bed and bent to use his hand and his teeth to pull the fabric down her thighs and off of her, indulging in a lingering look at her cunt as she lifted her head to watch him. He wanted to lower his head and kiss her there, to spread her thighs as he licked her and sucked her until she came against him. _Not yet_, he thought, _someday soon_, he promised himself, but his mind was galloping ahead; he imagined plunging his cock into her heat after he'd made her come, sliding past her swollen flesh and riding her until she came again with him inside her. Jaime groaned with need and rubbed his cock through his breeches. _One thing at a time_…

Laying back down beside Brienne, Jaime leaned over to kiss her as his hand covered her mound. He slid a finger into the wetness and began to rub it against her nub, firmly circling the flesh in a steady rhythm as Brienne's hips rose and she pushed her core against his hand, moaning into his mouth as her kisses became more ardent, as she sucked at his lips and tongue. Jaime could feel her heart racing, matching his own beat for beat until she broke their kiss to throw her head back and cry out _Oh, Jaime_…the same thing she had gasped out in her dream the night before, but leagues more intense, sounding almost broken as she shuddered with her climax.

Gathering her into his arms as she had done for him, he held her and stroked her and whispered his devotion into her hair. When she had ceased to tremble and relaxed into a boneless softness against him, Jaime pulled what blankets he could over them, wishing the tray their food had been on wasn't still on the bed. He thought about shoving it off with his foot, but the noise would have been too jarring. Instead he nudged it as far as he could to the edge of the bed.

After a while Brienne stirred and tugged at her nightgown, which was no longer covering any part of her that she thought it should. "You could just take it off, Wench," Jaime told her. Brienne smiled at him shyly and shook her head.

"You wouldn't have any spare sleep breeches I could borrow, would you?" Jaime asked her, "Mine are still a little wet." Brienne looked at him in puzzlement. _So naïve_, thought Jaime, but found himself at a loss for a way to explain without embarrassing them both. "You see, Wench, when a man peaks, his seed spurts…"

"Okay, okay, I understand!" Brienne said, raising a hand to stop him. One side of her mouth turned up as she caught him blushing. "I might have something you could wear," she told him, "but they may be a little long on you."

"Well, go get them, then," he told her.

She stretched languorously on the bed, smirking at him. "Gods, Jaime, I don't think my legs will work yet. They should be in the bottom drawer of the chest if you want them."

Jaime bit his lip, proud of the state he'd put her in, and got off the bed. First he tried to move the tray off the bed, but couldn't maneuver it without two hands.

"Here," Brienne told him, kneeling on the bed to grab the tray and set it in his arms to carry it. "And while you're up, we could use more wine."

"Yes, my lady," he said, with a pointed look at her as she lay back against the pillows, trying to smooth her gown. It was almost as good as having her naked, he thought, as his eyes roamed over the rosy circles of her breasts and the hair of her thatch against the cloth. She made to throw a pillow at him but then thought better of it, hugging it to herself instead.

Jaime set the tray down on the table and walked to the chest of drawers. He opened the bottom drawer and reached in looking for the breeches. The first thing he pulled out was the second nightgown Brienne had commissioned. He held it up, examining it against the candlelight. This one had a more shaped bodice than the one she was wearing, but it also was cut low and made from a fine soft material that he knew would hide little when she wore it. The gown was white with whorls of dark blue worked into the bodice in thin thread. Jaime raised an eyebrow at Brienne. "Who were you thinking of when you had these made, my lady?" he asked, "They hardly seem the type of thing the Maid of Tarth would think to take on the road with her."

Brienne blushed, but her eyes were bright as she watched him admire the nightgown. He continued to rummage in the drawer, finally coming up with a worn pair of breeches that were so threadbare that any form they might once have had relaxed into a softness not unlike the silk of her gowns. Jaime draped them over the chest and began to unlace his breeches, not missing how avidly Brienne was watching him. They rode low on his slim hips and he pulled at the laces with his single hand. Things like this always took longer since his maiming, but tonight he found going slow while Brienne watched him with her eyes still full of heat wasn't so bad. Jaime didn't turn away as he pushed the breeches down over his cock, half hard still, and pulled them off. His white shirt was long and fell to his upper thighs, but did little to hide the outline of his arousal. Brienne didn't look away as he had expected, and with a smirk he picked up the other breeches, trying to get the waist of them open so he could step into them.

"Jaime," Brienne said in a small, soft voice, "I…, um, it's okay if you just leave them off. If you think you can…control yourself." She seemed surprised at her own boldness, "Or do you think maybe I should put my smallclothes back on? I mean, you know we aren't going to…" she paused, blushing deeply, "…fuck. We're _not_ going to fuck, right? It wouldn't be, it isn't.." she finally stuttered to a stop, looking at him, hoping he would rescue her from having to say more.

Folding the soft breeches lightly and putting them back in the drawer; he walked over to her and sat down on his side of the bed. He took her hand and held it. "No, Wench, we aren't going to fuck." He tried to look serious, but found their conversation too delightful and ended up smiling widely, his eyes dancing. "Not yet, not tonight. Somehow we've already gone from me trying to court you with an unwanted rose and a romantic meal to making each other behave like a couple of wanton teenagers." He raised his eyebrows at her, "Do you think you can wait? There is still courting to be done."

"Can _I_ wait?" Brienne laughed, "I wasn't the one who took a simple request to show me what Hemikh did and turned it into a near-seduction."

"Only near, huh?" Jaime said, getting off the bed to retrieve the flagon of wine from the table. Brienne held out her cup for him to fill. "Seems to me it was more than near for both of us." He refilled his own cup and set the flagon on his side table.

Jaime got under the covers with her, gathering pillows to put against the headboard so that they could lean up against them. Brienne snuggled into his side and he wrapped his left arm around her shoulder, his hand playing with her hair.

"Did I tell you what the woman at the door told me when I came in tonight?" Brienne asked.

"No, we never got to that. You were too anxious for me to mimic fucking you."

"Jaime!" Brienne said, punching his leg with her fist.

"Ow! Okay, what did she say? Did she ask you about me again? Maybe you can tell her now that I look as good as I almost fuck." Jaime flinched, waiting for her to strike him again.

"This time she asked me if I knew why Dothraki men were called 'Horse Lords.'" Brienne looked up at Jaime, grinning wickedly.

"That sounds pretty tame. What did you tell her?"

"_She_ told _me_. She said it's because they're 'hung like horses,'" she giggled.

Jaime lifted the blankets and pulled his shirt up a little. "Got me beat," he sighed dramatically, "though I've never thought to compare myself a horse before. Maybe you _would_ prefer a Dothraki."

"She also told me they ride well," Brienne added around her smile.

"So you made me tell you Hemikh and the crone fucked and you already knew about it." Jaime said.

"She _could_ have been referring to his horsemanship."

"Uh huh. Sometimes I think you're not as innocent as you seem," Jaime suggested.

"You have been a terrible influence on me, Jaime. I'm hardly the same girl I was when we met."

"True," he sighed, "I wish I could have spared you from most of what you went through when we were apart. Or even most of what we've gone through together."

"It wouldn't make nearly as interesting a song," Brienne mused. "Did you like the song, Jaime?"

"Brienne, I actually loved the song. I know it probably embarrassed you, but it felt so much like it was about us. I've been wondering who helped write it."

"Do you have any idea?" Brienne asked, "Tyrion and Loras both knew about it before the bard sang. Loras and Dwayne stopped and talked to me before I came to meet you here. Loras seemed to know an awful lot more about the bear pit than most people. Where do you think he heard about it?"

"I told Loras about the bear." Jaime said, "Not long after you left King's Landing with Oathkeeper. He was really the only person I could talk to about you, and he seemed interested in the story. But I don't think he had anything to do with the song," he paused, "I need to get my wine, Wench, I should have thought this out better," he said, waving his stump toward the side table.

Brienne crawled across him and retrieved his wine from the table and Jaime held his breath as she brushed against him. "So," he said conversationally, "is this Dwayne someone I need to worry about?"

"Dwayne? Worry about in what way?" Brienne asked.

"You know, about him wanting to court you as well? He seemed a little too interested in you, Wench. He is a lot closer to your age." Jaime's heart clenched a little, thinking about all of the other things Dwayne had going for him: height, property, a title, no crazy ex-lover that was also his sister.

"Oh, I don't know about that, Jaime. I haven't even sparred with him yet." Brienne was growing a little drowsy, and Jaime's questions didn't seem very relevant to her.

"You've been betrothed twice already, haven't you?" Jaime asked her.

"Three times." Brienne said, picking up her wine and taking a large swallow.

"Three? There was the old man you killed," Jaime started.

"I did _not_ kill him," Brienne said with a chuckle, "I only broke a few of his old man bones and sent him on his way."

"And then there was Connington, when you were twelve; I bet you wish you had killed him."

"And missed the chance to hear you knocked his teeth out? No, but I did manage to beat him to the ground in a melee a few years later. That felt good." Brienne smiled, remembering how happy that had made her.

"So who else were you betrothed to?" Jaime said, trying to get to the point.

"Lord Bryen Caron's youngest son, when I was seven and he was ten," Brienne told him, "We met the once, and would have married before I ever got the chance to take up the sword. But he died a couple of years later of an illness that took his parents and sisters as well. My life would have been very different, I think, had he lived," she sighed, "I don't even remember his first name."

Jaime thought about Brienne being married and bedded at a young age, never taking up arms. Possibly chafing under the role of lady wife, or perhaps settling into it, content to be in charge of a household and bear children. "Do you regret that he died? Do you ever wish your life had taken a different path?" he asked her seriously.

"I would be lying if I told you I hadn't thought about it from time to time, especially when I first left Tarth and Lord Renly died in my arms, my sword as useless as cursing the gods would have been. Then when I failed to protect you from the Bloody Mummers, and when I left to seek Sansa and everything fell apart around me." She said quietly, and Jaime wrapped his arms around her and rocked her like a young child, feeling terrible for his part in all she had gone through. "And then, when this happened," she said, raising her hand to the puckered scar on her cheek, "it seemed I would die and never have any life at all."

Jaime felt his eyes prick with sorrow and guilt, for sending her on the quest that nearly killed her. He had been so foolish, not to recognize the vulnerable girl her staunch honor had hidden. She had been so strong, so fast, so capable. _Yet so alone_, he thought, _when I should have been with her_.

She continued, "I don't think that I was made to have an ordinary life, even if I had wanted to marry and have children. But," she said in a small voice, "I would never choose any of it over being by your side these last few years, Jaime."

Jaime felt his stomach turn over with an emotion so strong he could barely breathe. _Oh, Wench_, _There's so much more we could have, if we live long enough._He took a deep breath, used his hand to turn her face toward him; "I love you." He said, and lowered his lips to hers.


	15. Chapter 15

"I love you," Jamie said, and kissed Brienne. Of all of the kisses they had ever shared, this kiss might have been the most complicated. A kiss with so much more behind it than the pressure of Jaime's lips against hers, more than her mouth opening under his and meeting his urgency with her own. More than "I want you" or even "I _need_ you," this kiss didn't question, for it held its own truth: a complicated kiss that in the end was also the most simple: _he loved her_.

Brienne felt like she was spinning, falling, the world around her re-aligning in light of Jaime's declaration. In that instant she believed him.

For all the intensity of the kiss, it didn't last long. Jaime drew back and Brienne sat up and shifted around so that they were facing each other. Though Jaime's kiss did not demand an answer, and his words were not uttered in expectation of one, Brienne could see that he hoped she would say something.

How many times had she imagined telling Jaime how much she loved him? How often had she reminded herself that she never could, never _would_, tell him? Loving him came easily to her; the thought of finally telling him so made her heart flutter in her chest with a frisson of fear and elation.

"I love you, too," she said, the thundering of her heart so loud in her ears that she wondered if she had spoken the words loud enough to be heard.

Jaime's radiant happiness reached his eyes first, but the deep dimple in his left cheek was soon curving around a wide smile that left Brienne breathless, her own smile slower to appear but no less euphoric.

Jaime grabbed Brienne and bore her backwards in a ferocious hug, rolling them both and laughing as they playfully wrestled on the big bed. Soon it became a contest to see who could pin who, to tickle or steal a kiss. Eventually the kisses turned sensuous and the tickles became gentle caresses. They lay facing each other, their heads at the end of the bed and their feet in the pillows as they lazily petted and nuzzled at each other, legs entwined, hands and lips gently exploring with no intent other than finally being able to do so.

Jaime gently began to pull Brienne's gown up and she tried to quell the instinct to resist. Jaime's shirt was the next to go, though he was somewhat more willing to be rid of his clothes. They lay naked next to each other, barely touching, Jaime trying to give Brienne time to overcome the skittish shyness of being so exposed.

"Let's get under the covers, Wench," Jaime suggested, "and get some sleep."

Brienne was grateful for his suggestion. Even though she wanted to be brave and confident, she felt overwhelmed by their new intimacy and the many things that had changed between them in the space of a few days.

They got back under the covers, briefly tussled over the pillows, and then relaxed into their familiar position, cuddled up with Jaime snug against Brienne's back, his right arm thrown over her waist and her arm over his as she held his stump against her. Nothing had ever felt as comforting as Jaime's naked body against her back, and she melted into his warmth. The feel of his cock pressing against her backside without the barrier of their clothing seemed both strange and familiar. Jaime was as chivalrous as he could manage and didn't take advantage of the position to nudge her with his arousal. Brienne smiled to herself and shifted her hips and thighs a little as though settling in to sleep.

"Wench," Jaime warned in a low growl, "play fair."

Brienne laughed softly and bumped against him again before making herself be still. She could feel Jaime's heart beating against her back, his breath on her neck as he lightly kissed her there. Brienne heard Jaime murmur _my love_ under his breath, and then, suffused with contentment, they slept.

Hours later, Brienne woke up and looked toward the windows to see if daylight had come. A violent storm was beating against the thick glass panes. Snow piled up in the corners of the windowsill and the bare branches of the trees outside scratched against the window as though they begged to be let inside to escape the storm. There was a glow that might have been approaching day, but it could just as easily be snowlight.

It felt to Brienne like the more severe weather of the far north had finally found them after losing their trail for months. The inhabitants of the Red Keep were fond of complaining about the winter weather; everywhere Brienne went she heard someone lamenting the cold and snow, the scant hours of daylight, or how inconvenient it was to get wet and chilled when they had to go from one building to the next. Those here in the keep that had traveled down from the north knew how fortunate the people living in southern Westeros were.

In the far north the sun barely rose above the horizon to the east before setting again in just a handful of hours. The old rhythms that most folk lived their lives by were disrupted; dark and light became an endless gray. After Jaime had been arrested at Queenscrown, just south of the Wall but north of Winterfell, they had ridden south as rapidly as possible, stopping only every sixteen hours or so to set up a rough camp and sleep; they paid no heed to whether it was night or day. Several times during the journey the party had needed to hunker down to wait for a blinding squall to blow itself out, lest they lose the track of the King's Road and wander off course.

It was bleak country they had passed though. There could be little farming and game was sparse in a land blasted by winter. Those who had heeded the Stark's message that winter was coming by working hard to store food, wood, and warm furs had retreated into their concealed shelters and were seldom seen; they at least had a small chance of survival. Small folk that had felt there would be plenty of time to stock their larders for the long winter had mostly tried to make the uncertain trek south or had perished in the long night; many did both.

Brienne and Jaime would be back on the King's Road going north in about ten days, along with Queen Daenerys' force of Silvers and free fighters, an army of twenty thousand altogether. Jaime had been in command of nearly three thousand surviving fighters battling the Others and trying to push them back toward the Wall from their temporary base at Queenscrown before he had been arrested. Brienne had not been told what his status on the return journey would be, but she felt it would be foolish for Daenerys not to take advantage of Jaime's skill as a commander and as a warrior. No amount of rumor or disgrace could change the way that men willingly followed him into battle.

Even if Jaime were not given a unit to command, there was no reason to believe the two of them wouldn't ride together, camping and eventually fighting back to back as they always did. Brienne knew that as dear to her as Jaime was before, the stronger bond they had now formed would make their need to be together and protect each other even more important than it had been before.

But would anything else change between them? Jaime had said he was courting her; now that he had her love, did he consider his courtship to have been successful? Or was his intention in courting her to convince her to not only love him in return but to let him bed her? If that was his objective, Brienne already knew that she would have very little resistance to any attempt at seduction he might make. She loved and desired him, and her honor was already besmirched in the eyes of the world whether or not they consummated their love. Brienne thought briefly of her father's disappointment in having his daughter so compromised, but the rumors of her being the Kingslayer's Whore had no doubt made their way to him on Tarth long before this. As much as her father wanted her to come home, marry, and produce grandchildren for him he must have realized the chances of it were small.

Brienne suddenly thought about the risk of pregnancy out there in the wild north. Would there be a maester traveling with them to beg Moon Tea of? The very thought of making such a request made her want to squirm in an agony of embarrassment. Brienne might forever soil her reputation by finally bedding Jaime, but the thought of unintentionally getting with child really frightened her. When the whores that camped along with the soldiers became pregnant Brienne had seen the terrible physical toll to their unborn children the deprivation and danger of the north had. Few of the children carried to term in those conditions survived, and many times the mothers perished as well.

As Brienne's eyes began to close again in sleep, she imagined herself carrying Jaime's bastard and wondered irrelevantly if it would be called Snow for the north or Waters for the south. _Or Lannister_ _for its father_, her sleepy thoughts whispered to her,_Jaime is courting me, is it too much to imagine being betrothed to him_? Would Jaime even want more children someday, if the two of them survived to see the spring?

Brienne let the thoughts curl around her as she drifted back to sleep. She was standing on a hillside covered with yellow and red flowers. Her hands rested atop the great curve of her belly as she gazed into the distance, watching as a vast storm swallowed all of the sunlight and new green in its path as it swept toward her. She looked around for Oathkeeper and saw it lying on a mound of freshly churned dirt, the red and black blade dulled and lifeless, spotted with old blood and soil. A sudden, wracking pain twisted in her gut. She fell to her knees, keening as blood soaked the ground and the storm passed, howling, over her, snatching away her dreams of spring and the future as she cried out _Jaime, don't leave me_…

And then Jaime was holding her as she gasped and struggled in his arms, tears running down her face. "I'm here, Brienne," Jaime told her, "I'm here; it's just a bad dream. Nothing but a dream."

Brienne tried to focus on his face, trying to reassure herself that Jaime hadn't been taken from her, that she hadn't used Oathkeeper to dig his grave on a lonely hill and been left alone to bear his child. The howling wind of her dream rattled the windows in her chamber and hailstones pattered against the panes. Brienne shivered against Jaime, trying to choke back her sobs.

"Jaime," she whispered, "I'm sorry to have awoken you. I was having a terrible dream."

"Shhh," he soothed her, "Tell me what it was about."

They had long been in the habit of telling each other their dreams, especially if the dreams were intense enough to awaken them. It helped to dissolve a dream's power for them to talk about it afterwards.

"It was so awful, Jaime," Brienne said miserably, "I was standing on a high hill in the spring, and I saw that winter was coming in the distance, advancing on me like the greatest army of wights ever seen, and I looked around for you, and for Oathkeeper…" she took a deep breath, "and I saw Oathkeeper on a freshly dug grave, its blade dull and covered in blood and dirt. Then the storm was upon me and there was blood all around me, and I lost the babe, and the world just _shredded_ in the wind…and you were _gone_."

"I'm right here," he repeated, as she looked into his face, feeling his solid form against her, his strong arms around her. And then he smiled, a small, almost shy smile, "You were with child, in the dream?"

Brienne felt herself blushing hotly as she nodded and closed her eyes. She had been too carried away in letting the details of the dream tumble out of her to consider leaving that part out. She nodded and wrinkled her nose at him. "I tell you about such a horrible dream and that is what you find to pick out of it?"

"Sorry," he said, "you've just never mentioned a nightmare child before," he smirked, "I guess it just stood out."

"Do you think the dream meant anything?" Brienne said, "I mean, not the babe, but winter overcoming spring before it's even had a chance to take hold, the grave and Oathkeeper? I felt so _alone,_so terrified that you might have died."

"Wench, we both have terrible dreams fairly often. They don't mean anything; they're just our imagination churning up our fears and worries."

"But it was so intense," she said.

"So was your dream about the giant aurochs in armor having a cup of Hippocras with Stannis, but I haven't seen that one come true," Jaime reminded her. "Or that one I've had where all of the pickled pigs' feet served since we came here sprout tiny wings and go flying around the dining hall singing 'Ode to Aerys.'"

Brienne chuckled, "I remember the aurochs: he was wearing Renly's armor, which made it all the odder. But this dream of pigs' feet? You never told me about that one."

"That's because I just made it up. I have pigs' feet on the brain, so naturally I might dream of them." Jaime tucked his feet between hers, "though I would rather dream of _your_ feet, with or without tiny wings."

"I think they would have to be rather sizable wings to carry me anywhere," Brienne told him, giving him a little kiss on his stubbled jaw, "like dragon wings, perhaps."

"Mm," Jaime hummed, leaning his head back as Brienne found she was unable to resist working her lips from his jaw to the short bristles on his neck, tasting the salt there when she flicked her tongue against him. She felt him tense against her as she moved her mouth up, lightly biting his earlobe before huffing out a big breath in his ear and then sniffing at him exaggeratedly and nuzzling the hair around his ear with her nose before exhaling loudly in his ear again. Jaime started to laugh and cringe way from her, "What in the seven hells are you doing?" he gasped.

"I'm pretending I'm a horse looking for carrots," she told him, then nipped his ear again.

Jaime sighed dramatically, "Finally, here I am, lying naked with you in a big, comfortable bed, and you decide to inspect me for hidden root vegetables."

Brienne bit her lip, thinking of certain root vegetables not unlike a man's equipage in shape. Jaime looked into her shining eyes and narrowed his. "I do _not_ want to know what you're thinking, my lady." Brienne began to laugh as she watched Jaime try not to imagine what she could be thinking.

"I had no idea you had so little respect for my dignity, Wench," Jaime told her and moved on top of her, holding himself a little above her. Brienne felt his cock stiff against her thatch as he looked down at her, his eyes darkening and his smile becoming sharp. He watched as her laughter subsided, even though her smile didn't waver. He looked at her chest and watched her nipples harden under his scrutiny and couldn't resist grinding his hips lightly against her. Brienne inhaled sharply and the muscles of her thighs tensed as she felt the fire in her core ignite. Any modestly about being naked beneath him was forgotten as he lowered his head and circled his tongue around one nipple and then the other, then drew back to look at her face, to satisfy himself that she was as aroused as he was. He lowered his head again, moving his cock against her mound ever so slowly as he sucked a taut nipple into his mouth and suckled it hard, drawing her small breast into his mouth until she cried out and shoved her hips up against him, her hands rising to grip his shoulders, and then to push at him as the sensation started to overwhelm her.

He released her breast and then licked just the tip of her nipple, dark pink and swollen from his attentions. He moved his mouth to her other breast and drew it more gently into his mouth, suckling on it in agonizingly slow pulses before releasing it. He reached back with his right arm and pulled her leg up, bending it until her knee and shin were braced against his chest as he hooked his arm around her leg to hold it in place. He reached down and spread the lips of Brienne's cunt and moved his rigid cock so that it was pressed against her sensitive nub. He balanced on his hand as he moved, his cock enveloped in the wet heat of Brienne's slit but in no danger of entering her. Brienne's eyes half closed as her hands began to roam; pulling on his hair, stroking his chest, reaching out to hold his hips tighter against her. She raised her other leg and hooked it over his hip. Brienne watched as Jaime bent his head to watch as his cock slid against her moist flesh. Their hips began to move in tandem, grinding against each other faster and harder.

"Brienne, my love," Jaime gasped, "we need to stop if you don't want me to spill my seed all over your belly,"

"Don't…stop…" Brienne said, her neck straining back as she arched into him. So he didn't; he thrust against her fast and hard, and watched her peak before letting himself follow. Brienne felt his warm seed as it jetted out against his belly and hers as his release took him.


	16. Chapter 16

Jaime settled into the bed, relieved to be back in their nest of blankets and next to Brienne's warm skin. He'd retrieved his already soiled breeches and used them to clean his seed off of them both and then tossed them back on the floor. Jaime had expected the task to be a bit awkward, but Brienne hadn't been bothered by the mess aside from briefly dissolving into ticklish laughter when he tried to wipe her belly clean.

Now she relaxed next to him with one long leg thrown over his and her head on his shoulder, her hair fanned out to mingle with his chest hair. Jaime watched as she lightly drew circles through it with the tips of her fingers, swirling her fine, fair hair and his reddish-blond pelt in random patterns. Brienne's earlier anxiety from her nightmare seemed far away. He wondered what she was thinking about now that made her so peaceful.

With the glow of their coupling still upon them, both lapsed into a comfortable silence. Could it be considered _coupling_, he wondered, even though his cock hadn't been inside of her? It wasn't fucking, but the intimacy and connection they shared was so intense that in a way he felt like they had. He felt fulfilled, and not just from how good it felt to touch her and please her. Finally being able to really express how much he loved her was like removing iron shackles that he hadn't known he wore.

Jaime thought about the bard singing _Brienne the Brave_ the night before; the lyrics about how they had come to love each other were eerily close to the truth. At one time he might have said he first fell in love with her on the Quiet Isle when he'd almost lost her after their battle with Lady Stoneheart. Brienne's wounds had been grievous; not just the broken arm and the re-infected bite to her cheek, but the deep sword slash she had taken high on her leg that she had almost bled-out from.

Now he knew that he'd only _realized_ he loved her then. When had his love for her first taken root? _Was it the first time I fought her sword to sword? No,_ _I didn't love her then; I would have killed her if I could have, but she was stronger than me_. Jaime didn't like to dwell on how much poorer his life would be if had he prevailed in that fight. During their journey with his cousin Cleos he had already started to feel a strong respect and fascination for Brienne, but saving his own neck had been far more important to him than anything else.

After his hand had been severed Brienne had taunted him into staying alive by calling him craven and awakening the hope for revenge in him. The Bloody Mummers had practically made her his nursemaid, forcing her to take care of him as though he were a child not yet out of swaddling clothes. It had been humiliating, but Brienne was respectful and never pitying. That endless, macabre journey bound them together in ways neither could have guessed. Jaime hadn't yet started to love her, but the seeds of something stronger than regard and friendship were planted.

The bathhouse at Harrenhal, _the first time the woman stirred my blood, _he remembered. Feeling a little more alive after Qyburn's ministrations, he'd regained his cutting wit and lost no time in belittling Brienne, even after all she'd done for him. She had risen up from the water, tall and proud, water streaming off of her like a goddess of the sea, daring him to mock her further. She had shamed him, shown him what real honor looked like. Jaime had apologized, asked for a truce, and then told her his secrets. _She caught me when I fell_, Jaime remembered with a smile, _naked and wet and strong, yet so gentle_.

Still, he left her behind in Harrenhal, believing she would be ransomed and returned to her father on Tarth. The disturbing feelings she had awoken in him would dissipate; he would return to Cersei, his _real_ woman. Leagues away from either of them he'd slept with his head upon some weirwood stump and dreamed. In the dream when his beloved sister left him to his own darkness Brienne had been there to light the way when his own light had faltered. He had seen her for the woman, the knight, the _beauty_ that she was. It didn't hurt that they were naked in the dream, he mused. By the time he jumped in that bear pit, he must have already been half in love with her.

Jaime wondered when Brienne had come to love him. Not the kind of love they'd felt for each other for years now, the platonic love that kept them bound together, kept her by his side. _No_, he thought, _it hasn't been platonic for a long time, has it_? Jaime knew that desire didn't always equal love, of course, but they went quite well together for them.

The storm still raged outside and the quality of light had changed, which meant that the sun was up somewhere beyond the clouds. Jaime's troops would probably just be bedding down in the north unless the days had grown even shorter. He wondered if Ser Addam still lived and how many of their fighters survived. From time to time men, and occasionally women, arrived from outlying areas to replenish their forces, but they were never enough. Desertion was a factor that sometimes lessened their number; deserters seldom survived on their own, but it was nearly impossible to account for men lost and burned in battle, so the true numbers were never known.

Jaime wished there was a way to fight the Others more effectively. It often felt futile to keep fighting them; their forces seemed infinite, attrition only lessening their numbers for a handful of nights before they were back in overwhelming force. He often wondered where they all came from. Did they breed, or were they risen from the long-dead? Some said White Walkers were made from human children, transformed and raised among the Others. Jaime doubted this; their numbers were too vast to come solely from such a source. Eight thousand years, the last time the White Walkers had threatened, seemed a long time to be culling children to build their numbers. They would have to be extremely long-lived.

Was there a vast kingdom of them further north than humans had ever gone, with fresh troops moving in to replace the White Walkers shattered or burned in battle? No one had ever seen a Walker that seemed to be female, so either there were none of they stayed farther north, safely breeding more of the demons. Jaime knew that wights were nothing more than reanimated dead, as were the disintegrating horses and pack animals sometimes ridden by the Walkers.

But the ice spiders: were they spun from the rime to answer their master's call, or were they hatched somewhere, swarming in their thousands from egg sacs woven from hoarfrost and terror? Some old legends made mention of ice dragons as well, but Jaime hoped those were just a fanciful stories invented to entertain children. If one believed in those, they may as well believe in unicorns and snow bears.

Jaime's thoughts became distracted as he felt Brienne's fingers start to roam down his chest, following the line of hair trailing from between his ribs to his groin. She was caressing and lightly running her fingernails along his belly, and he caught his breath and held it, watching as she quietly explored. His hand had been resting in Brienne's hair, but his fingers flexed into her tresses as she began softly stroking the short hair surrounding the root of his cock.

"Really, Wench," he choked out, "I wouldn't want to disappoint you, but my sword is unlikely to rise to any challenge right now. Twice in one night after so long with only my poor left hand to wield it is probably my limit."

Despite his words, he could feel the blood rushing down; strangely light-headed, he felt as though he were floating in the warm seas near his boyhood home on Casterly Rock.

Brienne brushed her lips though his chest hair. "I'm not trying to make it 'rise,' Ser," she told him, a smile in her voice. "But as you have so boldly touched me where I had no more than dreamed of feeling you before, I thought it only fair that I be allowed to take your measure as well." She had not lifted her head to look at Jaime, preferring to see what she was doing to him.

"My measure?" he said, "I fear it will do me no credit for you to take my measure at this moment," though he felt the valiant stirrings of desire, he knew well enough that as good as she was making him feel his cock would need time to recover.

"Not what I meant, sweetling," Brienne said, "you needn't be forged of hard steel for this," And she ran her fingers over his limp cock, wrapped them around it and rubbing her thumb along the head of it, learning its contours.

"Sweetling?" he asked in a strangled voice as his eyes closed. His blood pulsed as she gently touched his exquisitely sensitive flesh, eventually brushing her fingers over his balls and down his inner thighs. "Oh, gods, Wench, you're, ah, you're killing me. Come up and kiss me, my love."

Brienne turned so that she was across his chest facing him, the tips of her breasts brushing against him. Her eyes were wide and shining even in the low light of the room. She looked half shy and half triumphant over her boldness. She slipped her arms under his and kissed his lips. He gathered her to him, wishing he still had both hands to hold her with. Jaime knew Brienne never thought the less of him for losing what he had at one time considered his most valuable asset.

"I have something to show you later," he whispered in her ear.

"Have I not seen it all?"

"Oh, Wench, you have seen nothing yet. But I was speaking of something special that Toby Mott gave me when I was at his shop yesterday. Do you think we'll get a chance to spar today?"

"I hope so. I have missed sparring with you. I mean," she said, "the way we normally do." Jaime laughed. "I'm looking forward to seeing Mott's wares. Hemikh and Lavakhat tell me his daggers are beautiful."

_So lucky to have a wench who knows what real beauty is_, thought Jaime. "Maybe tomorrow? I'll send word to him today. I'd like for you to meet him and his wife. But I warn you, they'll make you hold their new baby."

"Oh? Did they make you hold it? Boy or girl?"

"Yes, I had to hold it. They tell me it's a girl."

"They tell you _she_ is a girl, Jaime."

"Oh, right. Anyway, it was the first time I'd ever held a baby before." Jaime grinned, remembering. "She pulled my hair and my beard. Must just be something girls do."

"The first time, Jaime? You never held your own children, even once?"

"Cersei wouldn't allow it, said it was 'too dangerous' to show interest. I wish I hadn't listened to her." Jaime said sadly, "if I had been able to hold them I might have felt more connected to them. Maybe it was for the best, though."

"Oh, Jaime. How sad."

"Now that Tommen knows I am his sire I wish I'd had more time with him. Robert was a rotten father and Tommen deserved at least one sane parent. Poor Myrcella is well beyond my reach now, but at least I got to spend some time with the lad."

"Did you like holding Mott's baby? What was her name?"

Jaime laughed, "Merrie Pie, of all things. Why would they call her after some kind of dessert?"

"Pretty sure that would be a nickname," Brienne said drily, "like if I were to call you 'Jaime-pie'. It's an endearment."

"'Brienne-pie," Jaime said, testing it out. "Nope, doesn't really sound right."

"You know what I meant," Brienne said, "it has to go with the name. Let's see, Jaime…Jaime-bug? Jaime-boo? _Jaime sweetling sugar pie_?"

"Gods, no, Brienne. You wouldn't." Jaime chortled, "I am a grown man with a reputation to uphold."

"For being a big, soft, cuddle bear, you mean." Brienne told him, growling into his neck and nipping it lightly.

"Brienne-cuddle bear!" Jaime laughed, "Oh, I see what you mean, now. I like that one. Come, Cuddly Bear, Brienne Bear, why do you – ow! – bite me so?"

Brienne got up on her knees and straddled his middle. Jaime felt her warm thatch against his belly and his cock began to swell some as he looked up at her, her nipples tantalizing pink and erect just above his face. He propped himself on his elbows so he could take one in his mouth, sucking it in between his teeth. Brienne moaned low in her throat and rubbed her cunt against him.

There was a loud knock at the door.

"Fuck." They said simultaneously and then laughed. Brienne quickly got off of Jaime and dove under the covers. Jaime got off the bed and looked around for something to wrap around himself. He briefly considered his pants of the night before, stiffening with old cum on the floor, and quickly went to the chest of drawers to grab Brienne's old night breeches.

"Help me on with these, Wench," he hissed, holding them out. Brienne looked at the door, assuring herself it was locked, and quickly grabbed the breeches, holding the waist open for Jaime to step into and then pulling them up over. They didn't bother to lace them before Brienne tucked herself back into the blankets and he went to open the door.

A maidservant stood there, with a little cart piled with linens and candles just behind her.

"Ser Jaime?" she said in a high, sweet voice, "I'm Agnes. I'm to be looking after you and the Lady." She seemed to be around Brienne's age, perhaps in her early twenties.

"Come in," Jaime told her, stepping aside so that she could enter the room. Agnes glanced briefly at the half-hard bulge still pressing against Jaime's breeches before stepping into the room and looking over at Brienne. "This is Brienne of Tarth," he told her, gesturing over to Brienne peeking out of the sheets.

Agnes looked at Brienne, her light brown eyes lighting up. "M'lady, it is an honor to be in your service. I have heard much about your valor on the field, M'lady, and seen you about the Maidenvault as well." Agnes let her lips turn up in a little smile, "so it _is_ true then, what they say about m'lord and lady?"

Jaime grinned at Brienne over Agnes' head. "Of course it is true." He said at the same time Brienne said "_What's true_?"

Agnes chose to answer Brienne, "It is said that the two of you are never far apart. If you'll pardon my saying, m'lady, but there's rumors that the two of you secretly married up in the north and have a bairn hidden away in Winterfell being cared for by the Lady Sansa."

Jaime laughed and Brienne blushed. _Watch her wriggle out of this, naked as a mole rat in the bed we slept in_.

"I am sorry to say, Agnes, but those are just rumors. There is no bairn hidden away." Jaime told her, giving Brienne a cutting smile as she glared at him. He knew she would be flinging a pillow at him if she could have without exposing herself.

"Oh," Agnes said, disappointed, "it sounded so romantic! Word of Lady Brienne's new song is all over the Keep, m'lord. I must tell you, I much prefer it to the other songs they sing of the two of you, which are much bawdier. Although," she said, with a sly look at Jaime's breeches, "I can see how such rumors could catch on."

"Can we trust in your discretion, Agnes?" Jaime said sternly, "Godfrey assured me that we could."

"Aye, m'lord, and m'lady, I would never breathe a word about the two of you. As I said, mum," she nodded to Brienne, who was looking daggers at Jaime, "I am ever so proud to look after you. I was grateful to get the chance, after my last assignment."

"And what was your last assignment, Agnes?" Jaime asked.

"Oh, Ser, if I tell you it might be you won't be trusting me to take care of the two of you."

"I promise we'll trust you. Now tell."

"I was assigned to the former queen, Ser, to your sister Cersei. I accidentally washed her hair with bear grease, Ser, and just ran for my life before she found out."

Jaime guffawed and Brienne tried to hide her smile. "You were afraid of her then?"

Oh, yes, Ser, my lady," Agnes said, widening her eyes at them, "She's frightful when she's angry. I tried my best to keep her happy, and I don't know how the bear grease got in that jar. I know she had to fuck Godfrey the Moan to even get a maid, Ser, but I had to fuck 'im to get out of _being_ her maid." She looked from Jaime to Brienne and blushed, "Oops, my apologies. That wasn't very discreet, now was it?"

Jaime was grinning widely, his dimples overcoming any shyness Agnes might have had in continuing to share her gossip with them. "As it happens, Agnes, the lady and I hope to avoid Cersei if at all possible. If you can help us do that we'll be most grateful." Jaime told her.

Agnes nodded, and whispered, "So that's true, too, then?" Jaime looked warily at Brienne, who shrugged resignedly.

"What is true, Agnes?" Jaime asked, hoping he wouldn't have to hear Agnes recount that everyone knew he had fathered Cersei's children.

"It's true that she's wildly jealous of Lady Brienne? She should be, Ser."

Jaime smiled and patted Agnes fondly on the head. "You'll do just fine, Agnes."

"Oh, thank you, Ser, m'lady!" she said. "Can I do anything for you now? I've brung new linens and candles…"

I think for now the lady and I need a little privacy," Jaime told her, "I need to get ready to sneak past the lady that guards the door, and Lady Brienne didn't get much sleep last night." He almost ducked, expecting a Stark Swan pillow to fly through the air.

"Oh, Helyn? She's not at the door just now, Ser. She told me she had to see a horse about a man? Or was that a man about a horse? Though she mighta been drinking, m'lord, because it sounded like she said a man _like_ a horse. I don't know when she'll be back at her post. Her older sister, Felyse, is sitting in for her, but she's blind as a cave newt."

"All the same, Agnes, if you could come back in an hour or so? And later tonight we'll be wanting a hot bath. And a large tub, if you can get us one."


	17. Chapter 17

Tyrion left Daenerys' royal chambers in Maegor's Holdfast and crossed the dry moat, pausing to look up at the half dozen frozen heads impaled on iron spikes. In winter they hardly stank at all, and the snow rounded over the tops made them much less gruesome than usual. Tyrion remembered his father bringing him here when he was about six years old and insisting they linger on the bridge next to the mounted heads. He had been made to look upon each one as its fate was described in loving detail by his father, along with whatever misdeeds had led to their beheading. In those days Tywin had been the Hand of Daenerys' father, mad king Aerys, and he seemed to relish frightening Tyrion with the more horrific aspects of life in the Red Keep. Tyrion had still been young to have some hope of his father's approval, so he had studied those rotting, stinking heads diligently, as though he would be quizzed about them later. All it had ever gotten him was nightmares.

Tyrion wondered if Jaime and Cersei had also been brought along to the Keep when they were younger to sit at Tywin's knee in the Tower of the Hand. He imagined their father showing off the golden twins, introducing them proudly to the people they would someday rule over; Cersei as queen, Jaime as Lord of Casterly Rock.

Had Tywin mapped out Tyrion's future as well, when he was growing in his mother's womb? Had he planned for his second son to become a knight of the King's Guard, or perhaps even to follow in his own footsteps as the Hand of a king? Or maybe Tywin had been hoping for another beautiful daughter; someone he could show off and then betroth for political gain.

Sometimes Tyrion liked to imagine that his mother would have loved him even though he was born a dwarf. If Joanna Lannister had not died birthing him, his father might not even have hated him. He knew Tywin would never have loved him, but it wouldn't have mattered so much if he'd had a mother who did.

_Jaime always loved me_, Tyrion thought, _but does he still_? They had spoken little since Jaime had been brought back to the Red Keep for his trial. Never had they discussed the night Tyrion killed their father. Though Tyrion had little remorse for murdering Tywin, he did regret his lie to Jaime about having killed Joffrey; of course, that was before he had become a kinslayer in truth.

Tyrion also didn't rue telling Jaime that Cersei had been fucking their cousin Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack. He knew his words had hurt Jaime, but anything that would help his brother to see Cersei for what she was could only be good. How long had it taken Jaime to believe Cersei had betrayed him and move ahead with his life? Tyrion had gone on with his own life; even the memories of Tysha haunted him less now. Like so much sludge flowing into Blackwater Bay, Tyrion's past grievances had become diluted by the moving currents of the present.

He pulled his cloak about him and left the holdfast to the lower bailey and the serpentine steps. Tyrion needed to talk to Jaime this morning, but he wasn't sure where to find him. He assumed he was somewhere with Brienne. Knowing Jaime, he had probably found a way to spend the night with Brienne in the Maidenvault rather than stay in his uncomfortable room in Traitor's Walk. Tyrion chuckled to think of Jaime and Brienne sneaking around to spend the night together. After so many years of having to sneak around to be with Cersei maybe Jaime was just in the habit of needing to hide his affections.

Coming upon Brienne and Jaime kissing in front of the Queen's Ballroom last night had been a fair treat. Tyrion had hardly been kidding when he suggested they get a room; the two of them looked about ready to take each other right there in the corridor. _Cersei's face – oh, gods!_ Tyrion laughed out loud at the memory as he labored down the serpentine steps. He really didn't hate Cersei, much as he sometimes wanted to. That didn't mean seeing her react to Jaime being soundly kissed by another woman wasn't the highlight of his day; it was even better than managing to switch out Cersei's shampoo with bear grease.

Tyrion was grinning as he stepped out into the middle bailey. He was buffeted by the storm, one of the worst seen this far south. He pulled his hood closer to his face to protect himself from the sleet. The hailstones seemed big as peach pits and just as hard.

The Maidenvault was closer to him than Traitor's Walk, so he decided to look for Jaime there first. Ducking inside the 'Vault, Tyrion first looked around for Jaime's Dothraki guards. He was not surprised not to see them; they had been sent word earlier in the morning that they would no longer need to guard Jaime. Even if they hadn't heard, if Jaime were here with Brienne they would hardly give his location away by hanging about.

Tyrion greeted the woman seated by the door. She was even older than the crone who had been there yesterday when he had come to see Cersei. Elderly women stationed at the doors to the Maidenvault performed a purely ornamental position; it gave women like Helyn who could no longer perform maidservant or septa duties something to do. No one cared who came and went in the Maidenvault except on the rare occasions when it actually held maidens that needed their virtue protected. Tyrion could have told Jaime this, but it was much more fun waiting to see if he would try to sneak in to be with Brienne.

Tyrion didn't know which hallway contained Brienne's chambers, so he chose the one he knew Cersei's room was in. He quickly found he'd made the correct choice when a door opened down the hall and Brienne come out wearing her armor.

Strangely, she already had her helm on this morning. Tyrion understood why Cersei wore her helmet back to her room after practice, especially after he saw her rabid raccoon impersonation, but why would Brienne want to wear hers leaving the Vault?

Brienne startled a little to see Tyrion waiting at the end of the hall and reluctantly strode toward him.

"Well met, Jaime." Tyrion said smugly.

"Fuck. How did you know it was me?" Jaime said, stopping in front of him. "You could see that I'm not as tall as Brienne?"

"Brother, to someone of my stature there are only a few ways I see height: 'taller than me,' 'fucking tall,' and 'really fucking tall.' You and Brienne are both _really fucking tall_. However, Brienne doesn't walk like she's got a reasonably large cock swinging between her legs. You do."

Jaime laughed, "Can't say that occurred to me," he admitted.

"I never understood," Tyrion said blandly, "why it is that you swagger like you've got such an enormous cock when I am the brother most blessed in that area. But alas, mine just causes me to waddle so that I don't trip over it. It hardly seems fair."

"I never thought to see the day you would whine about what the gods endowed you with between your legs. Didn't you tell me once that they made you short to compensate for that gift?"

"True; I shouldn't complain." Tyrion said, smiling impishly up at his brother. "But do tell me: why are you wearing your lady love's armor?"

Jaime removed the helm and smirked down at Tyrion, "I was hoping to get out of here undetected by the crone at the door. I'm not supposed to be in here, you know."

"Actually, no one has ever said you couldn't be in the Maidenvault, Jaime. You just assumed that yourself."

Jaime narrowed his eyes at Tyrion, "You couldn't have told me this earlier?"

"You never asked. Also, I wouldn't have wanted to miss seeing you sneaking around in Lady Brienne's armor. How was she planning to sneak out later? The woman at the door is old, but she might remember if the same woman left twice without actually coming back in."

"We were saved from trying to figure that out. It seems the usual crone at the door has developed a taste for Dothraki loving. Apparently they are not called Horse Lords for their influence over their mounts. Well, not their equine mounts, anyway." Jaime said, "Looks like you have competition for outsized dangly bits, brother."

"'Dangly bits, Jaime? Really?" Tyrion laughed. "Think what you will, but I have it on good authority that under scrutiny mine holds up quite well compared to the Dothrakis."

Jaime laughed with Tyrion. "Did you come looking for me here, little brother? If so, I'm pretty sure it wasn't to discuss cocks. I think you would do better to track Loras down for that particular discussion."

"Ah, Loras," Tyrion chuckled, "he does seem to have some expertise, or at least a lot of opinions, on the topic. I was indeed looking for you. Were you heading anywhere in particular? I'd like to talk to you for a while."

"I was going back to Traitor's Walk to take off Brienne's armor for her to pick up later," Jaime told him, "but if you wait a couple of minutes I'll go back to her room and take it off ."

"Sure. Why don't I come along with you? I'm sure the lady would be happy to see me." Tyrion suggested.

"Funny. Brienne wouldn't thank me for bringing you in with me."

"Ah, so she's not ___dressed_ to receive visitors? I'll just wait out here then," Tyrion said, "and hope Cersei doesn't come out in the meantime."

Jaime returned to the room and soon came back dressed in breeches, tunic and a jerkin. Tyrion noted that his hair was suspiciously mussed and he had an insufferably smug look on his face.

"Did you tell Brienne what I said?" Tyrion asked.

"About you guessing I wasn't her? Yes. Did I tell her how you guessed? ___No_." Jaime said. "I also told her that you knew we didn't need to sneak into her room. She says you're in big trouble."

"Oh? The lady does like to threaten, doesn't she?"

"You go ahead and take her lightly, Tyrion. I'm ___sure_ she would never do anything bad to you."

"I like her," Tyrion told Jaime, "don't tell her that, of course. Now let's go before Cersei shows up."

"Gods, yes. She caught me out here last night in Brienne's cloak, but she believed I was Brienne. It was… ___enlightening_."

"Do tell," Tyrion said, leading them back up the hall.

"She threatened me, er, I mean Brienne; she was drunk but she also sounded more than a little crazy. I don't think she could actually hurt Brienne, do you?"

"Jaime," Tyrion said, catching his sleeve to make him stop walking, "I can't stress this enough, big brother, you need to be ___very careful_ about Cersei; she uses different weapons than Brienne does. She is not above trying to kill Brienne somehow."

"___Kill her_?" Jaime said, "That's a little extreme, don't you think?"

"Is it?" Tyrion said calmly, "I would be dead several times over if she had her way. And I didn't steal her white knight from her."

Jaime clenched his jaw and nodded, "I haven't been her ___anything_ in a long time. I'll be careful. Let's talk about this more away from her chambers."

"I agree. I'm famished, so let's go get something to eat," Tyrion said and started walking again.

They opened the doors and saw that Helyn was back at her post. She barely batted an eye at seeing the two men. She just hummed a little and seemed to be playing with a small silver bell that looked a lot like the kind Dothraki men wore in their hair. Tyrion decided not to mention that an edge of her skirt was tucked into her smallclothes.

The brothers left the Maidenvault and leaned into the wind blowing across the yard. They entered the building and shook the snow off of themselves before entering the nearly empty dining hall. The candles in Rufus' eyes still glowed, and the taxidermied sheep and lizard-dragon were nestled companionably next to each other at the end of their tracks near the ceiling. Several men were over in the far corner exclaiming over the installation of what looked like a very large ceramic dragon egg.

Tyrion led Jaime to a table close to the kitchen. A servant immediately came over to see what Tyrion would like to have prepared. "Crispy bacon, almost black, eggs with some of that fresh goat cheese mixed in, and brown ale," he said.

The man trotted back into the kitchen yelling out their order, "It's for the ___Hand_, you lackwits! Make it quick! No, the ___fresh_ goat cheese! How old ___is_ that? No, just put it in with the pig lips and lungs for tonight. No, you can leave the green parts on… "

"I'm not really the Hand, you know," Tyrion told Jaime, "but no one seems to know what to call me these days."

"Is her Grace planning to name you Hand at some point?" Jaime asked.

"She would have liked to, but she wants me in command of the troops along with Ser Barristan. I'm pretty sure one has a chance of living longer fighting the Others than one would after being named Hand," Tyrion said, reaching for the tankard of ale a servant had just set at his elbow. "Varys has been simpering about, trying to get the position, but none of us trust him as far as we could spit a rat."

"That's wise," Jaime said, "he's wormed his way into every sitting council for years. Does he have any official position now?"

"Dany lets him tell her what news his little birds come across, but she seems only to be waiting for him to take a misstep. She has him watched at all times, and he knows it."

"And did you advise her not to trust Varys?" Jaime said.

"I told her not to trust anyone," Tyrion said with a wry grin.

"Except you." Jaime noted, smiling back.

"Except me. Of course."

"Someday you'll tell me how you earned her trust. Also, about everything that happened after I freed you from the dungeons." Jaime said, taking a sip of his ale.

"Someday. I promise I will, Jaime." The servant came and set down their food. Tyrion nodded approvingly, "Being in good with the queen does have its advantages," he said, picking up a piece of bacon just a shade lighter than charcoal and tearing a piece off with his teeth.

Both men ate in silence for a several minutes, each uncertain how to address what needed to be said. Tyrion washed down a large bite of egg with ale and wiped the foam from his lips with the back of his hand.

"I want to talk about that night, Jaime," he said finally, and waited until Jaime met his eyes. The look on his big brother's face wasn't especially friendly and he could see that Jaime wasn't going to make it easy for him. "I had thought I would start by apologizing for killing our father, but I'm still not sorry that I did. I ___am_ sorry if it caused you pain."

Jaime nodded, his eyes never leaving Tyrion's. He'd waited a long time for his account of that night.

"Since I was the one who freed you and gave you what seemed reason enough to kill him, I have felt almost like a kinslayer myself," Jaime said, his green eyes burning with the memory.

"I am sorry if you felt that way. I behaved… ___ungratefully_… to you for saving my life. You should know that finding out the truth about Tysha was only one of my reasons for killing our father," Tyrion said, "I wanted him dead; but I'm not sure I would have found the courage to do it without your confession about my wife's true origins."

Jaime nodded, his jaw clenched. Tyrion continued, "But I am sorry that I told you I killed your son. I'm not sorry he's dead, either. The little shit deserved to die thrice over."

"He wasn't really my son," Jaime said, "I mean, he didn't ___feel_ like my son; just a squirt of baby batter that took root in Cersei's womb. I learned long ago that you weren't his killer. But Tywin, he was my father, too, and though there was little to love about him I still felt his loss. I think Cersei felt it more, though. Did you know I stood vigil over him in the Sept of Baelor the entire sennight he was there, lying in state? I have never smelled anything as foul as his rotting corpse in my entire life, not even my own hand rotting on a rope. There were times I wanted to shove a lit candle up my nose to cauterize it so I could never smell anything again."

"I had not heard about the smell," Tyrion said, "did they not prepare him properly?"

"The septas swore they did. I think someone must have tampered with his corpse. I've wondered about that for a long time. Maybe someone stuck a dead animal where his organs used to be and stitched him up again."

"Or maybe he was just as big a stinker in death as he was in life." Tyrion said, mock seriously, "The gods know he didn't smell real pretty when I shot him in the privy. He did not, in fact, shit gold."

Jaime couldn't help laughing at Tyrion's expression. "Dear old dad," he sighed, "Do you know, he smiled more in death than he ever did in life? As he shriveled there in the Sept I could swear his grin grew wider every day. It was as though he was pleased with the stink he was making."

"He probably was." Tyrion said, "I always thought he looked like he was holding a small turd in his mouth that he was trying to keep from dissolving. I don't think the man ever smiled kindly at me."

"I know," Jaime said simply, "he was nearly as cold as a White Walker. They don't smile either." Jaime laid his left hand on Tyrion's arm, "I am sorry about Tysha, Tyrion. I never wanted to hurt you."

"I know, Jaime. I've had a long time to think about it. I've also managed to grow up a little and I've had a real lover or two that didn't want me just for my coin."

"Or your monstrously large cock?" Jaime said with a raised brow.

"I can't swear to that," Tyrion said, "but still..."

"I'm glad to hear it," Jaime said, withdrawing his hand so he could lift his tankard for a drink. "Anyone sharing your bed now? Girl? Boy? Barnyard animal?"

"Maybe," Tyrion said, with a pleased smirk, "a ___girl,_ but that's a secret I'll keep for the moment. I want to talk to you about the woman sharing ___your_ bed." Tyrion could see Jaime struggle to suppress his smile and then give in and let his happiness show, his toothy smile and deep dimples no doubt drawing the eyes of every fertile woman in the room. He could have sworn his brother even blushed. Remarkable, really. "I asked Lady Brienne about her intentions toward you when I saw her last night."

"___You what_?" Jaime laughed, "She didn't tell me that."

"There she was, wearing your Lannister red cloak, obviously going to meet you and spend the night with you. It seemed the thing to do."

"It is well known that we sleep together," Jaime said evasively.

"Uh huh, I've heard the songs and the rumors, and if seeing the two of you trying to devour each other in front of the ballroom last night wasn't enough, watching your face as she wriggled in your lap last night..."

"Right," Jaime cut him off hastily, "what did you want to say to me about her, Tyrion?"

"Where do I start? I haven't had a chance to watch the two of you much, but I can see that you're in love with the woman."

"I am." Jaime admitted. "I'm not just 'in love,' Tyrion. I love her and have for a very long time now."

"So, when is she going to make an honest man of you, Jaime?"

Jaime choked on the ale he had just taken a drink of, "You rotten little imp" he said through his sputtering laughter "what did she say her intentions were when you asked her?"

"She didn't. She blushed until her freckles looked fit to leap off of her face, but I couldn't goad her into talking about the two of you."

"That's my wench," Jaime grinned.

"So I am asking you, but not just because I want to pry."

"I ___know_ you want to pry."

"So true," Tyrion admitted, "but there is a little more to it, Jaime. Daenerys has taken an interest in your relationship with Brienne. I'm afraid that even while she finds it all terribly romantic she also thinks she can use it to her advantage."

The blood drained from Jaime's face as he stared fiercely at Tyrion. "What the hells does that mean? What more does the queen want of me?"

"It's not you she wants something of," Tyrion told him, "It's Brienne. Daenerys has something she wants Brienne to do, and if Brienne refuses Dany is likely to make things difficult for both of you."

Jaime's hand came up and tugged at his hair, "Fuck. Brienne isn't political, you know. Why drag her into this? What does the little Targaryen tart mean to do?"

"___Her Grace_, you mean." Tyrion told him coldly, "She is your queen, and she did spare your life. Do you have any idea how close she was to sticking your head on a spike?"

Jaime sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. Tyrion knew when Jaime was set on being stubborn. He needed to tread lightly here.

"Jaime, I want you to be happy. I want you both to be happy, I really do. I got to know Brienne a little when you were locked up in the dungeon. Of course, at the time she was so sick with worry about you that I could barely pull two words out of her. I wondered how such a perfectly dour creature could be the woman they said had won your heart. But honestly, Jaime, seeing the way that woman smiles, the light in her eyes since you were released, is most enlightening. She's like a different girl altogether. But then, seeing you with her is just as revealing," Tyrion said.

"Oh? Do tell." Jaime said. Tyrion could tell he was pleased but trying not to let it show.

"Well," Tyrion said, "for one thing, I've seen you in love before and this time you look far less furtive -"

"If you're going to be a turd… "

"I know, I know, ___go lie in the yard_. You and Cersei need to get a new line," Tyrion said dismissively, "I was just kidding; I shouldn't make those comparisons. What I wanted to say is that over the years I've seen you carry a lot of weight on your shoulders, exacerbated by that rather large chip that you've been carrying since you slew Aerys Targaryen – and thank you for saving everyone from certain death, by the way – but even though I know life is no easier now, you carry yourself more lightly. You're still my snarky big brother, but seeing you with Brienne, there's a contentment about you I've never seen before." Jaime just nodded, accepting what Tyrion said.

"I swore to Dany I wouldn't tell you what she wants of Brienne yet. But if Brienne agrees to it, Daenerys is prepared to let you two stay together for a while, at least until she needs Brienne for something else later on. She might even grant you a small command, though that is yet to be seen. I've already convinced her that you no longer need to be guarded. But if the two of you thwart her, she will put you in separate units or even hold Brienne back and send her with the next wave of fighters."

"She has no say over what Brienne does in battle," Jaime said through his teeth, "she is a ___volunteer_. Brienne has not sworn fealty to anyone."

"I know you're not that naïve, Jaime. If her Grace wants to separate you, she will. She could even send Brienne back to Tarth."

"Not if I marry her, she can't!" Jaime protested.

"She is the ___queen_, Jaime! You know better than most that kings and queens do whatever they want." Tyrion said, and then grinned at his brother, "___Are _you planning to marry her?"

"If she'll have me. I don't have a lot to offer, with no lands and being so much older than her. And this," he said, raising his stump, "there are younger, un-maimed knights with more to offer the Lady of Tarth," Jaime said quietly, "but, yes, I had hoped to ask her soon."

"False modesty doesn't become you, Jaime; you cannot think she cares about land. As for your maiming, did she fall in love with you while you still had both hands?"

"I was actually quite an ass to her when we first met. I was her captive, as you know."

"So you're saying the two of you bonded over bondage? I never knew you were the type."

"Mind out of the moat for a change, Tyrion." Jaime chuckled, "I don't know when she started to even tolerate me. I wasn't an especially lovable person, and she knew about Cersei, and our bastards. Not exactly a recommendation, you know."

"You'd think not," Tyrion grimaced. "But you are planning to ask her, and that is happy news," he said, "may I ask why you haven't married her before now?"

Jaime hesitated before speaking haltingly, "Despite the rumors, we have only very recently… that is to say, we… Tyrion, the time just hasn't been right! We've been cheating death night after night for so long, just grateful for each new day we live to see. Being here in the Keep, it's the first time we've really had the chance… to… I've only just started really ___courting_ her, Tyr. The feelings have been there a long time, but… "

Tyrion bit his lip, enjoying seeing Jaime's discomfiture. "So, it was okay for her to be the Kingslayer's Whore, but now you want to do things right?" he asked.

"She was never my whore!" Jaime said hotly.

"No, what do you call it then?" Tyrion asked. "Don't tell me that the woman you have loved for so long and slept next to every night is still a maid."

"I don't know." Jaime said quietly.

"___You don't know_?" Tyrion said incredulously.

"I ___think_ she is," Jaime said, reddening, "but we were apart for several months after she left the Red Keep to go after your missing wife. I only know that she prefers not to be called 'the Maid of Tarth' anymore."

"Did you ever think she might have abandoned the title to take a little pressure off of ___you_, Jaime? Maybe she didn't want to make an issue of being a maid once she decided she wanted to be with you. You can't tell me the two of you haven't touched each other. What I saw the other night was not a first kiss, or even a fiftieth,"

"I really don't want to discuss my sex life with my little brother," Jaime said firmly.

Tyrion laughed at Jaime outright, not at all respecting his desire not to talk about it. "When you were fucking Cersei I don't recall you being especially shy about it around me," Tyrion said, "I seem to recall you being unable to stay away from her. That was what led to you pushing the Stark boy out that window and subsequently getting me captured by Catelyn Stark."

"I know what I did," Jaime growled, "it wasn't the first or last stupid thing I did for Cersei, just the most heinous."

"How long did it take you to believe me about Lancel and Kettleblack?" Tyrion asked curiously.

"Thank you for that, by the way," Jaime said drily, "I didn't believe you at first. Lancel? That sniveling little twerp? But he told me himself what he'd done. The rest became obvious soon enough. Understand this, though: what I have with Brienne is not anything like what it was with Cersei."

"So you ___don't_ want to fuck Brienne, then?"

"That isn't what I meant. Gods, you're obnoxious."

"So you say. I will admit to being the most obnoxious dwarf in the world if you will tell me how you intend to go about getting betrothed to Brienne. Have you gotten her father's permission yet?"

"No. Do you suppose I should? Of course I should; stupid of me. We've been together so long I forget there is anyone else with a say in it. If she says 'yes' I don't care whether her father approves or not."

"___She_ might care," pointed out Tyrion, "You could try to get a bird to him on Tarth. You might want to send several with this weather."

"I suppose I should. She has also said she won't marry a man who can't best her with a sword. It seems a strange thing given all the times we've saved each other's lives, and how we spar together like we were born to it. Still, I want to give her a good fight. She's romantic that way."

"Sounds like it," Tyrion laughed.

"My Wench," Jaime said proudly, "is one of a kind."

"Were you hoping to marry her before you go back to the Wall?"

"We were fighting a little south of the Wall, but yes, I did hope we might marry before that. I don't know where, though. Not in the Royal Sept, for sure."

"Why not the Royal Sept?" Tyrion asked.

"Um, bad memories of standing vigil over Joffrey," Jaime told him, "and not in the Sept of Baelor, either. I can't even think of that place without the memory of father's stink making me gag."

"You want to marry soon, though. I think even Dany would be inclined to let you two stay together as much and as long as possible, if Brienne does what is asked of her."

"This thing Dany wants, is it dangerous?"

"It is, but not much more dangerous than battling the Others with flame and swords."

"How reassuring."

"It's all I've got," Tyrion apologized, "but at least the queen listens to my council. I will do what I can for you and Brienne. If you do marry her you are going to have watch Cersei even more carefully."

"When she mistook me for Brienne last night she said she was planning to get me back in her bed," Jaime said.

"Now that ___is_ scary," Tyrion said, "it might be a good idea to move you and Brienne out of the Maidenvault."

"We slept together in Traitor's Walk once. I'd rather take my chances with Cersei than try that again. We 'really fucking tall' people need a little more space."

"Let me see what I can do for you," Tyrion said.

They had finished eating and Tyrion called for wine. Talk turned to more general topics and eventually Tyrion told Jaime stories of his travels after his escape, and Jaime told Tyrion about the Bloody Mummers, Lady Stoneheart and fighting the Others. As the wine and conversation flowed the brothers found the tension between them melting away. Tyrion hadn't realized just how much he had missed being close to his big brother. When they finally parted Jaime crouched down and kissed his brother on the cheek, just as he had done long ago in the dungeon, the night he'd rescued him. This time, Tyrion hugged him rather than back-handing him. They both felt it was an improvement.

"Are your quarters in the holdfast if I want to find you?" Jaime asked.

"They are, but you'll seldom find me there. I am often advising the queen, so you can send word through a servant to her people if you need me."

"I'll do that." Jaime told him. "When is the queen planning to talk with Brienne?"

"She might have sent for her while we were here," Tyrion said.

"Oh," Jaime said, "I think I'll go find her, then. We had hoped to spar a little today, but it's a little late and I'm a little drunk."

"Perfect time to spar, I should think," Tyrion said with a wink. Jaime laughed, nodding in agreement. They said their goodbyes, Jaime turning to go to the tower in Traitor's Walk to retrieve his clothes and new sword, Tyrion to go sit in on another war council.

Much later that night, Tyrion yawned and got up from the sumptuously upholstered chair in Queen Daenerys' private chambers. The chair itself was a little smaller than one might expect for one of such expensive craftsmanship, but not so short that it appeared to be a child's chair. A sturdy carved step specially made to slide beneath the chair on an unobtrusive hinge was accessed by a small lever just below the armrest. This step made the chair perfect for Tyrion; it was easy to sit upon without crawling up it like a child, and enabled him to leave his seat without having to make an undignified leap to the floor.

The minute Tyrion stepped away, Daenerys' fat tabby, Maumau, leapt up onto the seat, flicking her short tail in annoyance before settling herself into the warm spot where Tyrion's rump had been. She looked up at Tyrion with her gooseberry green eyes, waiting for their ritual: Tyrion blinked slowly at the cat and glanced away, and the cat did the same before settling her head on the soft red cushions of the chair and going to sleep.

Tyrion sighed, knowing he would not be getting his chair back without a great deal of effort, and went to pour cups of ___lamekh ohazho_ for himself and the queen. Daenerys was very fond of drinking a little fermented mare's milk before bed. He often drank it with her, even though he found the alcohol content disappointingly low and the sour taste of it less than appealing. Tyrion had begun to refer to it in his mind as "Lam-ick."

It made her Grace happy, though, and keeping her happy was something Tyrion was diligent about.

He carried the cup over to Dany, who was reclining on her bed, a blanket quilted with pockets of ice goose feathers draped over her. She sat up to accept the cup from Tyrion, letting the blanket slip down to expose her breasts. Tyrion noted that her nipples quickly pebbled in the air, but tried not to stare too hard. The double step she kept for him under her enormous bed was already pulled out and Tyrion climbed it to sit on the bed with her. He would have loved to lean over and nuzzle one of those little pink buds. Even in his peripheral vision they were distracting him so much he almost forgot to suppress his gag reflex as he sipped at his Lam-ick.

Dany smiled into her cup, enjoying torturing the dwarf. When she had drained about half of her cup she set it on the side table and leaned back against her pillows. Tyrion watched her with a small smile as she licked the tip of her finger and then ran it over an erect nipple, looking at him all the while. His cock was rigid against his stomach, but he made no move to touch himself or the queen.

This was their game, and they had their rules. Daenerys spread her legs under the covers, and lowered her hand to touch herself. Tyrion could see the outline of her hand as she ever so slowly rubbed her cunt. He knew what the blanket hid, and while he sometimes resented the way she teased him, he realized that the game benefitted him as well. The slow build-up of tension after so many years of instant gratification from whores was a novelty he had come to appreciate.

His cock had become so hard that it practically ached, making him was glad it wasn't constrained by his clothes. While his breeches were cut to fit his short stature, and were normally roomy enough for his cock when it was soft, getting aroused while dressed was especially uncomfortable for him.

Daenerys moaned low in her throat and Tyrion took a deep breath. He could almost taste the anticipation, which had a far better flavor than the mare's milk.

"Tyr," Dany purred, her lilac eyes raking over his naked cock.

It was time; Tyrion pulled the covers off of her legs and she withdrew her hand. Aside from a small strip of fine silver hair she was clean-shaven in the Braavosi style. Tyrion reached out a thick finger and ran it down her hairless slit to her core before dipping two fingers inside of her. She lifted her hips a little as he curled them inside, making her gasp. Daenerys had a sweet voice, and when she was excited it had a girlish, breathless quality to it.

Tyrion moved his fingers inside of her until she was writhing and then lowered his face to the swollen floret she had been rubbing before. His lips latched on to it and he sucked as his fingers continued to thrust and curl inside of her. It took very little time for his queen to cry out and start to thrust herself against his lips and fingers. Tyrion kept right on suckling and finger fucking her slowly until long after she stopped shuddering with her release. Then he rested his palms on either side of her waist, positioned his long, thick cock at her entrance and began to tease her with just the wide head of it. He lowered his mouth to her full breasts and began rolling one of her nipples between his lips and flicking his tongue over it.

Tyrion was waiting again, but this time he was in control. When Dany began to whimper a little he judged he had teased her long enough. He simultaneously thrust his cock hard into her wet heat and bit down on her nipple, the sensation making her arch into him with a loud cry. He released her breast and concentrated on filling her with his cock again and again, holding onto her hips hard to give him the leverage to pull it out several inches before slamming it back in again. He needed to control himself and let his lover peak first, something he had rarely thought to do back when he was only fucking whores. He watched Daenerys' sweet face as she arched her back and bucked against him, then allowed himself to climax with a final deep thrust that made them both cry out.

Afterwards, they lay sprawled on the royal bed, only their fingers touching. Tyrion watched as Daenerys closed her eyes and smiled. He knew few people had been allowed to see this side of the new queen. What had started out as a curious friendship between them many months before had become something far more intimate as Dany had come to trust the dwarf and enjoy his dark humor. Being hung like a Dothraki didn't hurt, of course. Tyrion had come to know the young woman Dany was behind the face she turned to world. Behind the sometimes frivolous fancies she was prone to, there was steel in her will that he respected, and she only sometimes let the fact that Tyrion was her lover as well as her advisor sway her.

With a little sigh she pulled the quilted cover up over them and snuggled up close to Tyrion. It had been a long while since he had slept anywhere but the queen's chambers. Very few people knew that Tyrion was serving the queen in so many ways. Those that did knew enough to keep the secret for them.

Maumau leapt onto the bed and settled on Tyrion's chest. "Mit-row?" she asked, and he laid his hand over her broad, furry back and slept.


	18. Chapter 18

After Agnes had curtseyed her way out of their room, Jaime sat back down on the bed and leaned over to kiss Brienne.

"So why didn't you mention this baby of ours hidden away at Winterfell?" he asked, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

"Hmm," she said, reaching up to untuck the strand of hair, "maybe because I wasn't sure it was yours."

"That's not especially funny, Wench," Jaime said with a lifted brow. Brienne could tell he was trying to keep his tone light, but the thought obviously bothered him.

"Maybe I wasn't sure it was mine?" she tried, reaching up to pull him down for a longer kiss.

Jaime let himself be led to her lips, but once there he took charge, kissing her fiercely, possessively. His lips burned over hers and she felt herself responding to him, her whole body yearning to feel him the way her lips were. When he moved his mouth to her throat she couldn't suppress a sigh as she arched into him. Jaime tugged the blanket off so that he could access even more of her skin and she shivered as his breath warmed her neck and shoulder.

Brienne imagined being with him like this in their bedroll when they were encamped in the cold north. Gods, she had yearned for him for so long. Now, unbelievably, she had him.

Jaime was kissing and nibbling his way down the inside of her arm, pausing at the pulse point in her wrist, warming it with his tongue and drawing her racing blood to him when he closed his lips on it. Brienne felt the same throbbing pulse echoing at her core, making her want him there, so ready to take him inside now.

"My love," Jaime growled, and Brienne noticed how his breath labored, how flushed his face and chest were. He closed his eyes, and Brienne knew he was trying to get control of himself, was trying not to give in to what they both wanted.

"If I don't stop now, I never will," he said, his voice so deeply masculine and needful that Brienne wanted to wrestle him onto his back and _take _him…

Jaime sighed settled next to her, "Wench," Jaime started to say, but then paused and grinned at her, "Bear-enne, much as I want to stay here all day and be tortured by you, I should go. I need to sneak out and find Lavakhat, and Hemikh, if he isn't otherwise engaged. Help me on with your armor?"

"Bearenne," she tried it out, "well, it has a better sound to it than some of the pet names you've come up with. Shall we see how my armor fits you?"

They got off the bed and walked over to the piled armor and Brienne's sweat stained gambeson. She helped Jaime get the padded garment over his head and then set about helping him get the rest of her gear on. She started by fastening the wide leather belt around his waist, leaning in close to pull the straps tight.

Jaime was grinning at her, his eyes mischievous.

"_What_?" Brienne said in exasperation.

"I was just thinking how much I like having a naked wench as a squire."

"Don't get used to it, Lannister."

"Maybe I could return the favor sometime?"

"Maybe," she grinned, picking up one poleyn and setting it over his right thigh. As she tried to strap it on Jaime reached out and cupped one of her breasts, brushing his thumb over her nipple.

"Okay, either keep your paw to yourself or get armored without my help." Brienne said shortly.

"You'd do that to me?" Jaime said, biting his lip and looking appealingly at her.

"Hells, yes," she said, "now stand up straight and stop staring, too."

Eventually Brienne managed to get all of the pieces of her armor strapped on to Jaime and stood back to admire him. She cocked her head to one side and smiled.

"You'll do." She pronounced and handed him the helm. "Meet you later, maybe in the yard?"

"As you wish, my Lady." Jaime bowed to her and then put the helm on, shifting it from side to side to make it fit comfortably. Wearing someone else's body armor was one thing, but the padding in a helm could be very individual for each fighter.

Brienne locked the door after Jaime left. She retrieved her nightgown from the floor, put it back on and then gave a mighty stretch. She looked around the room, smiling to herself. When she'd first come to this room, weary with grief and worn from the road, she had only dared to hope she would have a chance to sleep next to Jaime again, to feel him warm and alive at her side. She never would have imagined that Jaime would tell her he loved her in this room.

Brienne went over and picked up the rose Jaime had given her and looked at the singed petals. She held it against her chest and then spun around in a little circle, her gown flaring out around her legs. She seldom allowed herself to be giddy and girlish like this, but she was just so _happy_.

Her knight loved her, really loved her. There was danger for them on the horizon, but at this moment she just wanted to savor how she felt, remember how he felt against her.

She dropped onto the bed on her back, still holding the rose.

There was a loud knock at the door.

Brienne quickly tucked the rose under a pillow and wished she had a robe to throw over herself. She went to the door and called out, "Who is it?"

She heard Jaime reply, "Just me, sweetling."

She quickly unlocked the door and held it open for him. He had taken the helm off and gave her one of his delicious smiles, all teeth and dimples and shining green eyes. It didn't matter that she had just seen him; he had the power to turn her legs to water with that look.

"Is something wrong?" Brienne asked, closing the door behind him. He set the helm down on the bed and then pulled her head down for a quick kiss.

"No, I ran into Tyrion in the hall and he wants to talk to me. He knew right away I wasn't you."

"Oh, how did he know?" Brienne asked curiously.

"Well, you know, I guess as my brother he knows me when he sees me." Jaime said with a little smile. "Also, he tells me there was no need to be sneaking around in the first place. It seems anyone can come and go in the Maidenvault."

"What? Why didn't he tell us that before?"

"Apparently, we never asked." Jaime said, "But I'm pretty certain he was aware that we didn't know and found it greatly amusing."

"All of those stories you've told me about him? I always assumed you were exaggerating." Brienne said.

"No, afraid not. He _earned_ his nickname. He really is an imp."

"You realize, of course, that I will need to punish him for getting us again?"

"I'll let him know." Jaime grinned. "Now, a little help?" he said, starting to work the straps on the breastplate. Brienne helped him disarm, which was accomplished much more quickly than putting the armor on had been.

When it was all piled neatly on the floor again Jaime shrugged into his tunic and jerkin and brushed his hair. He stepped in close to Brienne and maneuvered her toward the bed until he had the backs of her knees up against the mattress. He lowered her to the bed and leaned on top of her, kissing her breathless.

"Say it again, Bearenne," he said, pressing his nose to hers.

"Say… ? Oh! I love you, Jaime." Brienne said, and reached up to ruffle his neatly brushed hair.

"I like the sound of that. I love you, too." He stood up and offered her his hand. She took it and he pulled her up as well. "I don't know when I'll be done. Meet you back here later if I don't see you in the yard?"

"Yes."

Jaime brushed his lips against hers again and left the room. It was past time to get dressed herself. If she was lucky she might be able to get a little bit of sparring practice in. She could arm up here since Jaime had brought her gear back.

Brienne was just looking through the chest of drawers for something old to wear under her gambeson when there was another knock on the door. She picked up the gambeson and held it against her thin nightgown to open the door.

A young man in the queen's livery stood on the other side of the door.

"Lady Brienne?" he asked.

Brienne nodded.

"My Lady, the queen sent me to ask that you attend her today on a ride. You are to meet her at the main stable in half an hour. Your horse will be saddled and waiting for you."

"Oh," Brienne said in surprise. "Of course. Do tell her Grace that I will meet her there."

The man bowed and turned smartly away as Brienne closed the door.

What could she want? Even though Brienne was often included in the queen's strategy councils they had rarely exchanged more than pleasantries upon meeting. The queen sometimes looked at her rather intensely, but Brienne assumed that she, like most people, couldn't help but stare at the scar on her cheek and her over-all unattractiveness. She sighed, the secure, loved feeling Jaime had left her with abruptly vanishing.

She went back to the chest of drawers, this time looking for something finer to wear riding with the ruler of the seven kingdoms. Brienne chose another of the items she had commissioned from the seamstress, pulling a thick, soft tunic out of the drawer. The wool had been dyed a rich lapis blue at the top and gradated into a deep purple at the bottom. Brienne rubbed it against her face, breathing in the lavender from the little sachet the seamstress had packed it with.

She had never taken pleasure in her clothes when she was younger, but now that she had a few items that suited her she was surprised by how much she enjoyed them. Brienne pulled the tunic over her head and chose a black, short-sleeved leather jerkin to wear over it. She chose close-fitted woolen leggings and stockings for her feet, followed by black lambskin breeches.

It would be cold riding in this storm; she wondered if the queen would dress sensibly for once.

Brienne took up her brush and ran it through her hair until it shone; she really must get some of that sweet-smelling shampoo to take on the road with her, she thought. She quickly braided the sides of her hair into a single plait that lay atop the rest of her unbound hair streaming down her back. She used a small wet cloth to scrub at her teeth until they felt clean.

Satisfied that she looked as well as she could, she put on her boots and cloak and strapped her sword belt with Oathkeeper around her waist and hips. Briefly wishing she had time to eat something, she looked around the room to see if she was forgetting anything. Remembering the rose, she retrieved it from beneath the pillow on the bed. Chiding herself for being a romantic fool, she tucked it down into her boot top, making sure it was well hidden.

She left her room, relieved to see that Cersei wasn't in the hall; she had probably had to arm up and be at the practice field hours ago. Brienne made a stop at the privy closet, cursing at the difficulty of arranging her cloak and sword in the small space. Better that than armor, though.

She saw that Helyn was sitting at the door tinkling a small bell next to her ear. Surely Hemikh hadn't surrendered one of his bells? If the Dothraki warriors gave up a bell for everyone they bedded it would be a wonder if they had any left. Maybe they kept extra bells for such occasions, but Brienne doubted it. Still, some enterprising merchant could start a thriving business in "I Fucked a Horse Lord" souvenirs. _Mind_ _out of the moat,_ she reminded herself, nodding to the old woman as she turned for the door leading into the yard.

She wondered how long it would be until someone had the courage to tell Helyn that her skirt was tucked into her smallclothes.

Outside, the hail had become no more than pea-sized pellets piling up atop the mounds of snow and pinging against the sides of the buildings. The icy wind blew steadily south. Brienne tugged her hood down and made her way to the stables, briefly wondering how someone of Tyrion's height had waded through such an accumulation of snow.

Tyrion. What to do with Jaime's pesky little brother? Brienne wondered if he was afraid of anything. Did he dislike spiders as much as Jaime did? How about small vermin with sharp teeth? Large, growling bipeds?

As she approached the stables she could see a Dothraki warrior with a long braid and a surprisingly furry cloak holding Sean's reins. Daenerys was standing with Ser Barristan next to her smaller mare. Barristan's huge dappled destrier was pawing at the ground, snorting white mist from his nostrils, his ears laid back against his broad neck. Sean looked disdainfully at the showy horse for such an ostentatious display before catching Brienne's scent and turning to nicker at her.

She was grinning as she walked up to the small party, remembering to give a little modified curtsey before hugging her horse.

Daenerys was looking at her curiously when she turned from Sean. Sean nudged Brienne on the shoulder with his strong forehead and she widened her stance to keep from being bowled over by him.

"Your Grace," Brienne greeted the queen, who for once was swathed in layers of warm clothing. Her red cloak was a wondrous thing of soft rabbit fur with rubies and black onyx chasing each other in a spiral pattern across the back.

"Lady Brienne," Daenerys said, "your horse seems much attached to you."

"Yes, your Grace, he is. We have been through a lot together."

"Did you grow up with horses, my lady?" Dany asked.

"I did. My lord father gave me my first horse, Skybiscuit, before I could walk. His offspring are quite sought after on Tarth."

"Your father gave a baby a _stallion_?"

"Yes, your Grace, though he made sure a servant rode along with me all the time until I was at least five."

Dany laughed, "I imagine that kind of upbringing would have helped me when I became a Khaleesi. Even Dothraki children start out on gentler steeds than service stallions."

"In retrospect, it does seem a little reckless, but I have always had a special rapport with animals. Biscuit never would willingly let anyone but me ride him."

Daenerys looked at Barristan and raised her eyebrows, smiling. Barristan nodded shortly to her and then regarded Brienne somberly, "Shall we ride then?" he said.

"Yes," said the queen, "it doesn't look like the storm is going to get weaker, so we may as well go before we lose the little light that we have."

Mounting her own horse first, Daenerys moved out to the front of their small group. Barristan on his dapple, Brienne on her brown and the Dothraki on his sturdy little bay followed.

Brienne turned to the Dothraki and greeted him in his native tongue. His fierce, scarred face lit with a smile as he returned the greeting and introduced himself as Ashefa.

"I'm Brienne," she said, reaching back to clasp forearms with him.

He nodded, "_Nesat_," he told her. Brienne wondered at how they all seemed to know her, or at least of her.

Brienne hoped the queen would get to the reason for their ride soon. It looked like they might be heading into King's Landing as she was headed out of the yard.

The snow and hail crunched beneath the horse's hooves as they carefully picked their way down Aegon's high hill. The wind was blowing too fiercely for conversation until they reached the bottom of the hill. To Brienne's surprise, Daenerys turned her horse to the right and headed for the walls of the city.

She led them along the street closest to the walls, nodding to the small folk pausing in their work to kneel in the snow as they realized the queen was passing by.

They passed the Iron Gate without using it to exit the city and Brienne began to get a sense of where they were going. A shiver of anxiety and excitement ran through her.

"Your Grace," she called over the wind, "are we going to see the dragons?"

Dany twisted around on her horse to smile at her, "We are, Lady Brienne. I hope you are not afraid of being close to them?"

Brienne returned the smile, "I've always wanted to see them. I hear they are even more beautiful than the paintings of them."

"They are," the queen confirmed with a mother's pride.

Brienne could see Rhaenys' hill looming ahead, and the ruins of the dragonpit beyond that. She knew the burned and collapsed ruin had been partially rebuilt when Daenerys took back the Iron Throne for the Targaryens. The huge building had once held nearly a score of dragons, but Brienne could see that only a small portion of it had been reconstructed to house the only three dragons known to exist.

They passed the Dragon Gate and rode around the building to a lower, smaller structure with an attached stable that had been added recently to the portion meant to house the dragons. There was also a covered pen housing scores of bleating sheep for feeding the dragons.

Even before they got close to the building Brienne could smell the peculiar musty reptile smell of the beasts, much like the lizards she had seen once when someone from Braavos had visited her father, trying to sell him oddities and trinkets from the free cities.

The queen led them around to the stables, and Brienne could feel Sean's skin twitching with nerves beneath her. She patted his shoulder and leaned close to his ear to murmur encouragement to him. His ears twisted back to listen to her, but she could tell by his swishing tail he was on edge.

A squat, muscular, Dothraki woman came out of the stables to help with their horses. She wore a warm-looking tunic beneath her horsehair vest, and her gray hair was bound in a thick knot at the back of her head.

The queen dismounted first and then Barristan, Brienne, and Ashefa swung off of their horses.

"Kristasof," Ashefa greeted the woman, bending his hulking frame over to hug her. She patted his cheek fondly. They led the horses into the stable, both talking at once.

Brienne turned to see Daenerys watching them with a little smile, "His grandmother," she told Brienne.

She led them into the building, which proved to be quite warm and opulent, its walls covered with tapestries, and rugs generously scattered over the wood floor.

"Shall we go meet the dragons?" Daenerys said to Brienne.

"Of course, your Grace," Brienne said, inclining her head.

"You may call me Dany or Daenerys when we're in a private space like this, Brienne."

"Thank you, your… Dany." Brienne said, suddenly feeling anything but reassured by the familiarity. She still didn't know why the queen had summoned her, but one glance at Ser Barristan told her she was soon to find out.

"We'll return soon," Dany told Ser Barristan, who sank into one of the upholstered chairs near the roaring hearth. Brienne wondered why he wasn't coming with them, and then thought to wonder why Ser Jorah hadn't been included in the group at all. She wasn't sure she had ever seen the queen without him nearby.

Daenerys led Brienne to the rear of the building, where an iron-reinforced door led into a large covered run that ran the length of the three pens housing the dragons. Brienne immediately noticed the blood splashes on the dirt and on the metal fences surrounding the pens.

"Sheep's blood," Daenerys said, seeing Brienne's widened eyes dart from the blood to the dragons.

"That's… reassuring," Brienne said in a low voice, finding her eyes suddenly riveted to the dragons themselves.

"These here," Dany said, trying to draw Brienne's attention to a series of metal panels standing about ten feet apart all along the row, "are proof against fire, in case any of them decide to torch us."

"And… how would we know? Would there be some warning?" Brienne said, mesmerized by the beasts before her, but glancing quickly at the panels to familiarize herself with their location.

"You have to be alert for it, but I have found they make a raspy sound just before they ignite their flame sacs. One comes to have a very keen ear for it after a while."

"Oh," Brienne managed.

She saw the largest dragon, black Drogon, looking down at them curiously. She shifted her gaze to the green dragon, Rhaegal, noting his cold bronze eyes watching her, making her feel so much like prey she worried that she'd bleat if she tried to talk.

When her eyes came to Viserion, her breath caught in her throat at his beauty. His cream colored scales gleamed like opals in the light filtering through the high glass ceiling, and his molten gold eyes echoed the color of his horns and the crest along his neck and back. His pupils, at first just thin slits like a cat's, began to widen as he looked at Brienne. She wondered if he liked what he saw; did she resemble a sheep to him as well?

Viserion stretched his neck to bring his head closer to the bars of the fence and Brienne. She held very still, just as she would upon meeting a skittish horse. After this, she thought, being in a pit with a bear would seem like nothing at all. Still, she wished Jaime were here, if only to look upon this magnificent creature with her.

Daenerys was watching her reaction closely, but when she saw Viserion showing an obvious interest in Brienne she began to watch the dragon intently as well.

"Would you like to touch him?" she said quietly to Brienne, keeping her eyes on Viserion, noting his widening pupils and the way his nostrils twitched with the scent of this new human in his midst.

Tearing her gaze from the dragon Brienne looked at the queen questioningly. Was she serious? What did one do to make friends with a dragon? Not offer them a carrot, surely. A leg of lamb, perhaps?

"Let him sniff your hand, just as you would a dog or a horse," she suggested.

Brienne took cautious steps forward holding out her hand, palm down. When she was almost to the fence Viserion pushed his narrow snout through the bars and snuffled at it. Brienne let him sniff and began to talk to him in a sing-song voice, telling him what a good, sweet, precious dragon he was. She turned her hand over and let him sniff her palm before she lifted her hand to pet his nose.

The dragon was warmer than she had expected him to be. She remembered that lizards had cold skin and needed heat in order to move and thrive. Dragons, with their own source of heat, must have warmer blood.

Viserion's scales were slightly rough but leathery, much like the carapace of the softshelled turtles common to the interior waters of Tarth. Brienne watched his golden eyes as she scratched along the ridge above his nostrils and saw when he blinked that he had a third eyelid just like a cat's. A small humming seemed to come from deep in his chest.

"Is that a bad sign, that sound?" She asked, not looking away from his eyes.

"No," Dany said, "I call that _durring_; it's like the dragon equivalent of purring. They don't do it very often."

Brienne finally looked over at the queen, surprised to find a combination of satisfaction and jealousy in her face. Dany smiled a little self-consciously.

"I had really hoped you would get on with one of them, but I confess I am a little surprised and envious at how quickly Viserion came to you. They don't normally take to new people easily."

"Is that why Ser Barristan is staying inside?" Brienne asked, "So they would have fewer people to distract them?"

"They are not overly fond of men." Daenerys admitted, "With fairly good reason, in Viserion's case. A man tried to tame him with a whip once while I was gone on Drogon; Rhaegal put an end to that. They tolerate a few men, though. Barristan a little, Ser Jorah not at all."

"Why not Jorah, especially?" Brienne asked.

"I think he just gives off a stink of jealousy and possession around me that bothers them; especially Drogon." Daenerys said, "He was there when they were born and at first he was like an uncle to them, but as time went on and they matured they came to dislike him."

She stepped toward Drogon and held up one dainty hand to him. He lowered his massive head and she reached between the bars to scratch the soft scales around his eyes. Brienne heard the low, vibrating _durrrr_ coming from him, louder and deeper in tone than Viserion's.

"If I may be so bold, my queen, did you bring me here just to meet the dragons? Or did you have something else you wished to speak to me about?" Brienne said, "Not that I'm complaining; I have been fascinated by dragons since I was a young girl. Meeting one is like a dream coming true."

"I am glad to hear you say that," Dany said, "Let's go back inside for and I will tell you why we came."

Brienne reached between the bars to give Viserion some last scratches over his eye ridges. He snorted warm air at her, much like a horse would. She turned to follow the queen, excitement warring with a sense of danger that had the back of her scalp tingling.

What could the queen want with Brienne that had to do with dragons? Did she want Brienne to help care for them, since she was strong and the dragons did not like men? There could be few women in King's Landing brave enough to work with the great beasts. Brienne wondered how many women like the Dothraki grandmother had come with Dany across the sea.

But if Daenerys wanted Brienne to be a glorified stable hand it hardly seemed sensible; she was of far more use as a fighter. Dany must want something else, something that wouldn't take Brienne away from the battle in the north, and, Brienne noted with a lurch of her heart, away from Jaime.

Maybe she just wanted advice on using the dragons when she finally brought them to join the battle in the north: the best places to deploy them; which creatures would be most devastated by dragon flame. Brienne had plenty of opinions on that subject. These dragons should have joined the fight months ago. Thousands of lives could be saved if Daenerys would bring them to the wall. If she sent word ahead they could even have some tasty sheep laid in to feed them. They could stay in one of the abandoned fortresses along the Wall.

Maybe there was something else, unrelated to dragons, that the queen needed from her, and she had only brought her here to win her over by letting her meet a dragon. Could the queen want to put Brienne in charge of a unit of fighters? She had some experience of that, being one of Jaime's captains.

Or perhaps this was just about Jaime, and Daenerys was finally coming to her senses about how useful he could be going forward. If so, Brienne would fair talk her ears off about all of Jaime's qualities as a commander. Ser Barristan was still not fond of Jaime, but he must have come along for some reason. Even he must see that Jaime had saved King's Landing when he killed the mad king.

Brienne had only recently met Ser Barristan, when she first came to the keep. He seemed an honorable man, and his fighting skills were impressive. Still, his demeanor often left her cold and his continuing disapproval of Jaime didn't make her inclined to like him, either.

Daenerys led Brienne back into the main room of the building attached to the pit. Ser Barristan was enjoying a steaming mug of what smelled like mulled wine. When he saw the women he stood and waited patiently until Dany had seated herself. While Brienne settled herself in another of the big, comfortable chairs Barristan went into what must have been a small kitchen and brought out two more mugs of the hot wine. He handed them each one.

Brienne set hers down on a table next to her. She hadn't eaten since the night before, and wanted to be sharp for whatever was coming. She sat up straight and tense in her chair and waited while Daenerys took a sip of the wine and then curled her legs under her in the big chair. _Such a tiny thing_, Brienne thought, _to wield such power_.

"Lady Brienne, can you guess why I brought you here?" Daenerys asked. She was smiling, but Brienne did not find it inspired her confidence.

"I confess that I cannot, you Grace." She said, resisting the urge to twist her hands together in her lap like a nervous child.

"Did you like the dragons?" Dany asked.

"I am not sure if one can 'like' dragons, your Grace. They seem far too dangerous to simply 'like' them. I did find them beautiful and awe-inspiring."

"And Viserion? It looked like you might have 'liked' him." Dany teased lightly, but Brienne sensed something leading behind her easy words.

"He is quite beautiful. He seemed to be a little tamer than the other two."

"Viserion is actually just as wild as Drogon and Rhaegal. He did seem intrigued by you, though."

"I have always gotten on well with animals," Brienne said, "possibly because I tend to care for them more I than do for most people."

"Then what I am about to tell you should make you happy," Daenerys said, her smile turning sharp. Ser Barristan was watching Brienne from beneath his bushy white brows. He was not smiling.

Brienne tilted her head, thinking: _Make me happy? I doubt it_. She said nothing, the sense of danger getting stronger.

Daenerys waited for her to speak. Brienne took a drink of her wine. Barristan cleared his throat.

"Lady Brienne, I need your help with the dragons," Daenerys said bluntly.

"My… _help_." Brienne said, willing the queen to get on with what she wanted to say.

"Yes. My people expect the dragons to aid in the fight up at the Wall. I have flown on Drogon once, but I did not command him. I was not raised around animals, my lady, or I might have known to train my dragons when they were younger. As their mother, I must admit that I rather indulged them." Dany paused to sip some more wine, "When they grew larger and more dangerous there was little I could do to control them. Men have tried to step in and tame them, but most, I'm afraid, failed."

"Failed, your grace?"

"Were killed by the dragons, Brienne. I have come to realize that the dragons are less aggressive to women. Most women, though, are not only too craven to earn a dragon's respect, but few are strong enough to work with a dragon in any meaningful way. You are both brave and strong. It also appears that your prowess with horses might also be true of dragons."

Brienne had been holding her breath as she realized why Dany had chosen her for whatever it was she wanted. Strength. Bravery. Perhaps being somewhat disposable in the scheme of things.

"So you believe I can tame your dragons in some way?"

"I don't think anyone can _tame_ a dragon, but I do need you to _train_ a dragon. Just Viserion, since he seems to have chosen you."

"_Just_ Viserion," Brienne said, thinking of the huge, deadly reptile out in the pit, "Train him. To what? Walk on a leash? Not chew up her Grace's shoes? To paw the ground for treats?"

"I am glad you see some humor in this," the queen said, "You'll need it. I want you to train Viserion to carry a rider on his back."

Brienne whistled through her teeth. This queen might be as mad as her father, she thought. "You will pardon my doubts, but if the dragons have become accustomed to killing their trainers I hardly think that someone like me with a little horse sense is the person to step in where the others failed. Who is this poor, doomed soul you are expecting to ride your wild flying beast?"

"You." Came Ser Barristan's voice, and Brienne turned to look at him. Seeing his serious, even pitying expression, the blood drained from her face. She shakily took another sip of the warm wine.

"Then I must refuse," Brienne said with more certainty than she felt. "In just over a sennight your fighters will be marching on the King's Road. I belong with them. I intend to return to the fight in the north. Ser Jaime and I left men behind who have been fighting all this time, waiting for fresh forces."

Queen Daenerys exchanged a look with Ser Barristan before speaking again, "I know that you want to be with your Ser Jaime, my lady. He is my leverage to convince you to do this. If you agree to take on Viserion's training, _and_ you can break him to a saddle and show me that you can fly him, I will allow you to travel with the army and your lover."

"And if I do not agree to train the dragon?"

"I can make your life quite _unpleasant_. I can hold you in the Keep when the army goes north. I could even send you back to your father on Tarth, if the weather ever allows for it. Or," Daenerys paused, narrowing her eyes at Brienne, "I could send you with the army but put you and Ser Jaime in separate units that would never fight in the same time or place. Cersei would be in Jaime's unit, and he would, by royal decree, have to keep her near him at all times, including in his tent. To keep her out of trouble, as it were. You would rarely see each other."

_Jaime and Cersei in the same tent? Jaime would never stand for that_, Brienne thought.

"What if I try to train Viserion and fail?" Brienne asked.

"If he hasn't killed or maimed you in seven days, and I see you've made an honest effort with him, I will release you from training duty to travel with the army."

"And if I successfully fly him? Then what?"

"Then I might need you again, when I am ready for the dragons to fight the Others. I would need you to fly him in battle. But that would not be for many moons, and we, Drogon and I, would fly with him to wherever you are fighting."

"And Rhaegal? Who will fly him?"

"I wish I knew, Brienne. He is unpredictable, and even I am afraid to risk flying on him."

"When do you need an answer from me, your Grace?" Brienne asked over the sick feeling in her stomach.

"I would like your answer now, of course," Daenerys said, "but I will give you until tomorrow eve to make your decision. I _need_ you for this, Brienne. I am sorry to have to make threats if you refuse, but you could potentially save many lives by training Viserion. He was such a sweet baby, Brienne. I wish you could have seen him then."

_A sweet, murderous baby_, you mean, Brienne thought. "I'm sure I will have questions in the meantime," she said, "about the possible details of this training."

"Tyrion can answer any questions that you come up with. If he doesn't know the answer he will find out from me." Daenerys told her.

_That little shit Tyrion, again! He knew this was coming_. _Jaime's with him right now; I wonder if Tyrion will tell him about this meeting with the queen_.

Ser Barristan cleared his throat and said, "I believe the storm is getting stronger, your Grace, and the light is fast fading from the sky. May I suggest we ride for the Keep while we can still see the road?"

"You are right, of course, Barry. Please got let Ashefa know that we'll want the horses." Daenerys said.

When he had gone Dany leaned conspiratorially toward Brienne. "So tell me, Brienne, how close was the song to the truth about you and Jaime?"

_Girl talk? Now?_ Thought Brienne. "Which parts, your Grace?"

"Which parts? I have to choose? How about the bear pit, we'll start with that."

"Yes, that was all true," Brienne said, finding it ludicrous to discuss it with someone who had just threatened to keep her and Jaime apart.

"I didn't believe it when I first heard the tale," Dany admitted, "but the more I learned about the two of you, the more I believed it possible. Is it true you fight back to back when you battle the Others? That between the cage of steel you create no ice sword can get through?"

"That is also true, your Grace," Brienne said grudgingly.

"And _are_ you secretly married?"

"If I told you that, your Grace, if would hardly be a secret any longer, would it?" Brienne said sullenly.

Dany laughed, which made Brienne all the angrier at this farce. First, to demand a possibly deadly favor of her under threat of taking the thing most dear to her away, and then to rub her nose in it with romantic conjecture. What a twit the queen was turning out to be.

They heard a long whistle outside and rose to go to their horses. Brienne hugged Sean before she mounted, wishing he could hug her back. She needed to get back to the Keep to talk this out with Jaime. He might see some angle that she was missing. They could go have some mushy fish together in the dining hall; Brienne was nearly hungry enough to eat even that.


End file.
